


moons in collision, like gravity or love

by Aria



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Being Immortal Means Never Having to Talk About Your Feelings!, Canon-Typical Violence, Dr. Carmilla's A+ Parenting, Gleefully Unreliable Narration, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Polyam Mechs, Porn With Plot, The Plot is Emotions But Don't Tell Jonny, Trans Jonny d'Ville
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria/pseuds/Aria
Summary: His living heart had hurt, and the new one felt strange: he could feel the clockwork and the gears in his chest where there had once been nothing but messily squeezing muscle, and at that firsttickticktickhe felt the sick swooping rightness of it so strongly that every moment on either side of it went white with euphoria.Linear memory's overrated, anyway.
Relationships: Drumbot Brian/Jonny d'Ville, Ivy Alexandria/Jonny d'Ville, Jonny d'Ville & Nastya Rasputina, Jonny d'Ville & The Toy Soldier, Jonny d'Ville/Ashes O'Reilly, Jonny d'Ville/Gunpowder Tim, Jonny d'Ville/Marius von Raum, Raphaella la Cognizi/Jonny d'Ville
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	moons in collision, like gravity or love

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you listen to the bit of banter in DTTM where Jonny talks about those beautiful, in-love moons, and suddenly you find yourself ~39k into Feelings. Anyway uh I love Jonny d'Ville, have a story about it. 
> 
> CWs: body horror, Mechs-typical violence, implied parental abuse, suicidal ideation, drinking, smoking, under-negotiated kink, noncon drugging, sex under the influence, panic attacks, terrible coping mechanisms that you probably shouldn't indulge in even if you are an immortal space pirate
> 
> All noncanonical planetary system names are pulled with no particular order from the Wikipedia list of exoplanets. The space soap operas are TheWrongKindOfPC's fault, the medical terms and Raphaella's everything are filiabelialis' fault, the edible ball bearings and Brian's external memory drive are all of our faults; they've both been invaluable cheerleaders and betas, and all remaining errors are my own.

**one eyed jacks**

Age sixteen, Jonny Vangelis went down to the local parlor and got his ears pierced, three places, a stud in each lobe and one bar across the top. It reminded Jonny of slaughterhouses: someone comes at you with a nail gun and you drop dead, but Jonny had gone in willing. He was a little disappointed when they didn't press the gun against his forehead. When they made the holes, the sound against his ears was more like a stapler than a gunshot. He didn't even bleed.

He spent the next few months twisting the metal rings through his ears the way they'd told him to, keeping the holes open, getting the wounds to close up without closing in. The slide of cold steel through places that had once been whole was the best feeling Jonny had ever known. It gave him a half-sick swoop in his stomach, like by carving a bit of himself away he'd come closer to something true, and he wasn't sure what it meant, but he wanted it.

*

Age nineteen, Jonny Vangelis killed a man. Shot him dead to rights, the pistol swinging up in his hand like a dance partner, perfectly arced, his finger squeezing the trigger as though it'd never known anything else. The man had been coming at Jonny with a jagged bottle, and Jonny wasn't the first one to fire off a shot in the bar that night, but he'd only just snatched the gun up off the floor, and the way it fit in his hand was love at first touch. He'd never hit a moving target before, only dented tin cans along the back fence with his father keeping his aim steady, but this time it felt--

No. Age nineteen, Jonny Vangelis killed a man. He'd been killing two years now, since his father'd had that spot of trouble and the money ran out, and there were folks who liked having a kid on their crew who would ask no questions and shoot straight where and when they told him. Good money in that. There was good money in killing, and Jonny was good at it. He cleaned his guns and twisted the studs in his ears and felt that half-sick feeling more strongly every time. He was good at killing, and he asked no questions, so when he killed this man just outside Jack's bar, it was no different from--

No. Age nineteen, Jonny d'Ville killed a man. Specific, see: Billy Vangelis, who owed Jack a substantial sum, which Jonny could pay in blood. And then he killed Jack, because one murder wasn't much different from another, and every time his aim was true.

*

Age nineteen, Jonny d'Ville had his heart ripped out and replaced with something better. This is a story worn jagged at the edges: you don't gain immortality without giving something away. For Jonny, the missing piece was the linear memory of it. His living heart had hurt, though this might have been a medical diagnosis or a metaphor. ("You had a good heart," the doc told him later, and Jonny wondered what that meant, and why her voice curled mocking around the syllables as she said it.) His living heart had hurt, and the new one felt strange the way his earrings had felt strange at first: he could feel the clockwork and the gears in his chest where there had once been nothing but messily squeezing muscle, and at that first _tickticktick_ he felt the sick swooping rightness of it so strongly that every moment on either side of it went white with euphoria.

Linear memory's overrated, anyway.

**life! life! eternity!**

"How many times have you died?" Nastya asked.

Jonny squinted up at her from where he was wedged against a bulkhead, a mostly-empty whiskey bottle dangling desultorily from his fingertips. Nastya was wearing a crisp blue button-down, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears, and was altogether too upright for Jonny's current mood. She was also infuriatingly good at finding the corners where Jonny had gone to ground, a trick not even the doc had yet mastered. Jonny wanted to know how she'd done it, but, well, rude to answer a question with a non sequitur. "We've talked about asking personal questions, Nastya."

Nastya sat down facing Jonny and tugged the bottle from his unresisting hand. "Sorry, Jonny," she said, not sounding remotely apologetic, and took a pull of the bottle before passing it back.

"Bullshit," Jonny said. A vague worry bumped against his mind through the pleasant haze of alcohol. "Why do you ask?"

Nastya took off her spectacles and polished them on the corner of her shirt. Jonny made the mental note to find her a puzzle box on their next planetary stop, or maybe destroy a panel of nonvital wires on the ship, to give Nastya something to do with her hands. "I've been thinking about it," Nastya answered, once her spectacles were cleaner than they'd ever need to be. "You talk about Dr. Carmilla killing you like it's normal?"

She'd said this like a question. It wasn't a question, though. Jonny was, by the admission of literally everyone who'd ever met him, a little shit. He'd been a shit as a kid, and obviously his folks hadn't dealt with that the way the doc did, but the underlying principle was the same. Actions had consequences. "Well, I mean," Jonny said, floundering. "Yeah?"

Nastya gestured with her hand, so Jonny passed the bottle to her. She was going to polish off the whiskey herself unless he took it back soon, but Jonny found he wasn't particularly bothered. Nastya was an odd one, but Jonny didn't mind her company.

"I heard how you won Aurora," Nastya added after a minute, and then, "Thank you."

"That death was fucking worth it," Jonny said. It had been, if only for the looks on the Cyberian officers' faces when Jonny had slouched back to life at their feet and offered them their own loaded gun, already knowing that every last stupid proud one of them was going to shoot themselves in the head as he'd done. Gun to the head wasn't a bad way to go, not if you got the angle right. There was the moment of blinding, splintering pain, like the universe had exploded inside your skull, but nothing after. It was _fun_ , was the secret to it, riding the adrenaline of fear that his body still didn't know better than to feel. Every time he pressed the gun to his temple, Jonny went willing.

He knew a lot of ways to die. Gunshot wasn't a bad one unless it was a gut wound. A line pushed into a vein wasn't technically bad either -- it didn't _hurt_ \-- but blood loss was a slow death, and the creeping dread, the way Jonny's heart ticked up into desperate overtime to try and compensate the blood flow, the fucking _gentleness_ of it, made it one of the worst in defiance of all reason. Jonny knew a lot of ways to die, and by now he also knew that the only way to make any of them better was to go into them laughing. Easier with some than others, that was all.

"In answer to your invasive question," Jonny said, "I have absolutely no fucking idea how many times I've died. You do realize that counting them is weird, right?"

Nastya shrugged. "Ivy counts hers."

"Well, Ivy's really fucking weird too," Jonny said, and was gratified when Nastya shrugged again, conceding that. He thought about lobbing Nastya's question back at her. He thought about asking how she'd been able to find him, wedged away in the quiet parts of the ship. He didn't say either, but finished the bottle with her in silence.

**who killed dr. carmilla?**

In the end, it was Brian who decided that enough is enough. He had just as much cause as any of them, and if the doc thought that giving Brian that bizarre morality switch was a fun piece of poetic justice or dramatic irony, well, Brian spacing her was poetic justice or dramatic irony too. Jonny saw it from the end of the corridor: Brian's hand gleaming, pressed flat on the airlock decompression button. Their eyes met for a moment, and Brian looked perfectly calm and perfectly righteous--

No. In the end, the doc left on her own. One of the airlocks malfunctioned, no matter how Nastya protested that the Aurora wouldn't make that kind of mistake, and for some confused and wild moments they all thought the doc must have been spaced: _fallen out the airlock_ , Jonny said with no small glee, _how clumsy_. It was only later that they realized none of them had done it. The doc had simply become tired of them and left, without fanfare, without even saying goodbye, and Jonny knew he should have felt relief but what he felt was a deep, furious annoyance at the gall of the doc not even making a _mess_ \--

No. In the end, Jonny saw the doc meditating in an airlock, a normal enough occurrence. Before his arm and brain had a chance to communicate, he'd already slammed his hand against the airlock decompression button. He watched until she'd become a vanishing speck against the black. One murder wasn't much different from another, after all.

**gunpowder tim vs. literally fucking everything**

The war against the Moon Kaiser was a lovely, perfect war. Jonny had never died choking before, nor been cooked alive. He could have done without the microwaving, frankly, though it allowed him to make the interesting discovery that he could regrow a limb wholesale, a realization he came to after reviving in a muddy trench minus a leg his opportunistic erstwhile fellow combatants had relieved him of in search of a meal. The gassing, though, that was something else entirely. That death was slow and terrifically violent and made Jonny feel lightheaded both going down and coming to again. There were never enough respirators to go around, so Jonny didn't bother with them.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like one, old chap?" the Toy Soldier asked him, its smiling wooden face uncomfortably close by as Jonny spat out a mouthful of mud and breathed in ragged dizzy gasps. It held out a respirator helpfully. "You _do_ writhe around when you die! It doesn't look very comfortable!"

"Dying isn't comfortable," Jonny told it, rolling to a sitting position. The dim tunnel continued to spin, and little phantom lights popped behind his eyes. His voice was wrecked. Jonny couldn't stop grinning. "Neither of us need that. Go take it back to those poor bastards who still think they'll make it home by Christmas."

"Righto!" the Toy Soldier said cheerfully, and left Jonny to head back to ... whatever side it had taken the respirator from. Jonny hadn't got a good look at its uniform, but it was even odds whether it was fighting for Queen or Kaiser this week. 

Jonny flopped back down in the mud and laughed up into the dimness. His lightheadedness was fading. He fumbled around in his pocket for a cigarette, managed to light it on the third try, and smoked it slowly, staring up at the tunnel ceiling and chasing the lovely dizziness as long as he could. Then he got up, knocked off some of the drying mud, and headed in his best guess at the front line for his own side.

*

Jonny would not have been able to pick Tim out among the other soldiers were it not for Bertie's death. Certainly he'd encountered them both, but the Forty-Second Starborne was ten thousand strong when the war began, and even as their numbers dwindled, Jonny didn't pay any specific combatants much mind. They were there to die, after all, so trying to remember names and faces was pointless.

Tim, though. Most of these young soldiers, confronted with their dead friends, retreated into themselves, or stopped moving quite so fast when the attack alarms sounded, and so died too: predictable, and not even especially moving. Shell-shocked depression lacked specificity. But Tim, Tim went _mad_ , and Jonny paid _attention_.

The whole battalion was calling him Gunpowder Tim by then, with pride and awe and not a little bit of fear in their voices. Gunpowder Tim led desperate, almost nonsensical charges across no man's land, and he came back without a scratch, his bayonet dripping with lenny blood and his squad nearly almost all alive on the return. Gunpowder Tim was actually carving through the Kaiser's lines, gaining ground and momentum and the weight of story.

"What's the plan?" Jonny asked him, one cold and dirty night when they were huddled in a foxhole together with a lead sheet weighing heavy on their backs. It wasn't exactly the first time Jonny had spoken to Tim, but it was the first time he'd got Tim alone, and he was very curious to know what Tim's answer might be.

"Plan?" Tim repeated. His face was palely lit by the chemiluminescent glow of their single lantern, and his eyes, when they met Jonny's, were large and dark and a million miles away, somewhere untouchably horrible. They made Jonny think of black holes. "I'm going to kill every last one of them, and then the Kaiser."

"I'd love to see that," Jonny said. He was finding it oddly unbearable to be so near Tim, doing nothing but staying perfectly still and waiting for the microwaves to pass. Tim was beautiful the way a burning building was beautiful, and Jonny wanted to touch him to see if it would hurt. Instead, Jonny contented himself with watching Tim's face. "I'd love to be there when you do."

*

Whatever the Toy Soldier's faults, it certainly came through in a pinch. It dispatched most of the Kaiser's personal guard before retrieving Jonny's head from near the Kaiser's feet and trotting briskly to the nearest escape shuttle. Jonny was relieved to see that the Toy Soldier had already stowed his body in one of the shuttle's seats. It set Jonny's head down considerately atop his shoulders before beginning the shuttle launch sequence, and by the time the shuttle was beginning its juddering ascent, Jonny had reattached his disparate parts enough to rasp, "Well done there."

"Thank you, Jonny!" the Toy Soldier said. "I rather thought you would enjoy being in one piece!"

Any reply Jonny might have made was drowned out in a world-shattering _whoomph_ of sound, the blast radius hitting them like a physical force in the moment before the moon exploded. 

As soon as Jonny's ears had stopped ringing and he could see anything but painful bright-dark spots, he stumbled to the shuttle's observation window. The sight outside was magnificent: a thousand thousand glittering fragments of ice and moon rock were smeared across the sky, still as brightly reflective against the sun as they'd been when the moon was whole. Much of the moon had vaporized entirely, but the rest was expanding outwards like a cosmic firework. 

"Wonder how long it'll take for bits to start catching fire in the atmosphere," Jonny said dreamily.

"About four days!" the Toy Soldier replied, because it didn't understand rhetorical questions. Jonny appreciated that it had answered, though, especially when it added, "We could stay around and watch! I'm sure it'll look just _lovely_!"

"Smashing," Jonny agreed, pleased by his own pun. Questions about cause and effect were beginning to filter through the pure pleasure of watching the explosive chaos outside. "Run a scan for life signs."

The Toy Soldier did so. "One," it reported. "Nearby! Who do you suppose it is?"

"Gunpowder Tim," Jonny replied, though it was really even odds that it would be the Moon Kaiser: it would be equally satisfying if the Kaiser, in the greatest of ironies, had survived, or if Tim had remade himself in that glorious detonation. That Jonny hoped the survivor was Tim counted for very little. "Take us over."

The journey was rough, buffeted as they were by bits of exploded moon, but they made it to the Kaiser's lifepod without sustaining any serious damage. The Toy Soldier locked the crafts together and Jonny climbed down to discover the identity of their mysterious life sign.

It was Tim. He was sprawled on the floor in the attitude of someone who'd been forcibly ripped from consciousness, but when Jonny dropped down next to him, he stirred, and Jonny saw that his lovely, black hole eyes were seared-out, weeping ruins in his face. After a moment of still disbelief, Tim began to grope wildly around him. "Who the _fuck_ is there?"

"Jonny," Jonny said, and might have said more, except that he'd barely spoken when Tim launched himself at Jonny with a strangled cry of pure rage. He missed Jonny, of course, and thrashed a bit at Jonny's feet, clearly torn between agony and fury. The anger was interesting, but it could wait. "We're rescuing you, idiot," Jonny told him.

Tim's only answer was in an inarticulately despairing noise, which Jonny ignored. Tim was taller than him, but slighter, and in no position to move himself. Jonny managed, with some difficulty -- not at all helped by Tim's weak thrashing -- to hoist him into a fireman's carry, and climb back up to his original shuttle. He dumped Tim in a seat, as gently as he could, though Tim still gave a bitten-off scream.

"It is Gunpowder Tim!" the Toy Soldier observed. "Oh, I am glad!"

"Contact the Aurora," Jonny told it. " _Now_."

Once the Toy Soldier had hailed the ship, the response was instantaneous. "What," Brian's voice came, crackling through the comm, "did you _do_?"

"We didn't blow up the moon!" the Toy Soldier said. "We _did_ aid and abet our friend Tim in blowing up the moon, though!"

Jonny nudged it aside. "Brian," he said, "how fast can you get here? We -- I'm not a fucking doctor but we have a stupid _mortal_ and I don't want him to--" He tripped over the words, annoyed with himself, and settled on, "Get here. Fix him."

"On our way, Jonny," Brian said. Good. _Good_. The space where the moon used to be was violent and wonderful. Jonny didn't want to let go of the person who'd done that.

*

Tim's new eyes looked good: weird, inhuman, mechanism eyes, theirs now. Jonny had one single moment to enjoy this thought before Tim punched him, a clean hit across the jaw that split Jonny's lip along the way. Jonny spat blood and laughed. "Good to see you, Tim."

"Fuck you," Tim said. He punched Jonny again. This time it cracked Jonny's head against the nearest wall. Jonny saw stars and, beyond them, the others frozen in various attitudes around the med bay. Brian looked like he was on the verge of intervening, but Ashes' hand was on his arm, a thoughtful expression on their face. Ivy's eyes were wide, halfway between alarm and fascination. Nastya was frowning but made no move to get to her feet. The Toy Soldier was smiling, as it always did, though it did seem puzzled. Jonny refocused on Tim just as Tim grabbed his vest and slammed him bodily against the wall. More stars. Tim was fantastic at explosions.

"What's the problem?" Jonny demanded. Tim's eyes were even lovelier up close, intricate clockwork things, irises clicking and narrowing to focus on Jonny's face.

"You _can't die_ ," Tim snarled.

"Neither can you, now," Jonny said, and accepted the blow to his solar plexus with equanimity. He managed a breathless, "Keep going, then."

Tim slammed his elbow down on Jonny's back, and Jonny collapsed in delight. Then Tim was kicking him, bright bursts of pain raining down on Jonny's torso, much too rapid and vicious for Jonny to draw the breath necessary for laughter. Tim was silent except for his soft pants of exertion. Distantly, through mounting agony, Jonny heard Brian: "Tim, please--" and Ashes: "No, let him get it out." Then footfalls: Ashes, steering Brian from the room; the Toy Soldier following at its usual cheerfully brisk pace; Ivy, hesitating for a moment in the doorway before following; finally, Nastya, sliding down from her perch.

"Don't hurt him further while he's dead," Nastya said, at telescoping distance. "We don't like that, and it will not make you feel any better."

Around then, Jonny lost consciousness.

When he came to, several of his ribs were still broken, and Tim was slumped against the wall near him, sobbing into his hands, none of which was exactly ideal. Jonny considered playing dead until Tim got through the storm of his grief, but the noises he was making had the dry misery of panicked momentum to them. Jonny considered simply leaving, and tracking down literally anyone, all of whom would definitionally be better at comfort than he was.

"Conscious," Jonny croaked, "if you want to keep going at me."

Tim's sobs hitched and stumbled over themselves. He lowered his hands to look at Jonny, still breathing in shuddering gasps. "I can't cry," he said dully. "No fucking tear ducts."

"Right, yes, you burned them out." Jonny pulled himself into a sitting position, gritting down on the pained noises this wrenched from him. One of his ribs shifted back into place. What the fuck was he even supposed to say? Sorry you can't cry? Sorry -- what? Tim's maddened grief had destroyed the _moon_ , and nothing Jonny said could even _touch_ that.

"Is it," Tim said. He took another huge, shuddering breath. "Will I -- keep feeling all of this? Forever?"

Jonny's last rib snapped back into place in a flash of white-hot pain. He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and listened the _tickticktick_ of his heart in the silent room.

"Fuck, I hope so," Jonny said.

**the last broadcast from dimidium**

"New star system on the scanners," Nastya announced, her voice crackling through the shipboard speakers. "They have good range on broadcasts. ETA two months, but news and entertainment have been uploaded to Aurora's central computer."

Jonny was already halfway to the nearest console. If the planet they were approaching had been at war, Nastya would have led with that, but by this point any new star system was worth a bit of excitement, even if all their news and entertainment was about how pleasant and conflict-free the world was. (Unlikely, anyway: if Jonny knew anything, it was that the universe abhorred order.) He reached a screen and took a quick scroll through the data. The Aurora was still running initial translation protocols. "Hurry up," Jonny muttered.

The running command line slowed perceptibly. Jonny scowled, but didn't do anything so stupid as shoot the console. Instead, he made his way back to his quarters, on the theory that the Aurora would be done with her translations by the time he was there. 

He was nearly right. The screen display in his quarters read _99%_ and continued to do so even after Jonny stared at it for an impatient minute. He made sure his door was firmly shut, then leaned very close to the wall. "Aurora," he whispered, "I'm sorry I rushed you."

 _Translation complete!_ the screen informed him. Jonny ground down on the instinct to have the last word. Instead, he detached a tablet from the wall, settled on his bunk, and began scrolling through the uploaded broadcasts. 

The star system was called Dimidium by its inhabitants. Only one habitable planet, centrally governed, although there was enough civil unrest for the news outlets to report it, and not so much unrest that they were pretending everything was running just fine. Most of the other planets in the Dimidium system were gas giants, but the nearest one of these had upwards of thirty moons, many of which were off-world colonies for the inhabitants of the one populated planet. Jonny spent some time trying to figure out whether the colonies were set up because of some kind of privation on their home planet, if they were penal colonies or secondary homes for the rich or _what_ , but there didn't seem to be any kind of pattern. Dimidium had had access to space travel for over two millennia, and people seemed to live on the moons for the same wide range of reasons they might live on the main planet. Jonny gave up on that line of enquiry; Ivy was the one who'd most likely do a deep dive into the history of the system. Jonny had better things to do.

Dimidium had entertainment channels.

One of the most popular show formats seemed to be a series of how-to segments, with one presenter demonstrating how to build or work or use something, and another presenter there to be comically bumbling while the explanations were aimed at them. Jonny shuffled through a number of these, hoping that any of them might at least suggest an interesting project he hadn't tried yet, but he very quickly grew bored. He spent some time after trying to figure out where the entertainment channels were keeping their music, but singing was in bafflingly short supply, and most of their instrumentals were somewhat repetitive percussion. Jonny considered sourly that Dimidium hardly even counted as a civilization. 

Then, finally, he hit upon the serial narrative fiction channels. Most systems had those -- though most systems also had _decent music_ \-- and Jonny tended to enjoy them. You could learn a lot about cultural attitude from what they put in their serial narrative fiction. Back home, they tended to be sprawling family epics, full of women in hoop skirts crying beautifully as they were forced to leave their homes as the droughts swept through, or hard-bitten gunslingers scraping out brief triumphs in the dust bowl. Everyone hugged a lot in those serials, which Jonny found stupid, and everyone did a lot of shooting in those serials, which Jonny had always loved, even as a kid. 

His very favorite serial had come out of Harriot, a fairly boring system as they went, which had made it all the more delightful when he realized that every character on _In the Sun's Dying Light_ solved their problems by blowing them up. There were at least six explosions per episode. The cast changed over very quickly. It made Jonny laugh until he couldn't move, and he'd immediately made Tim sit down and watch some episodes with him. Tim hadn't laughed as hard as Jonny did, but he did watch all the explosions intently, and pronounced them "probably real," quirking a smile at Jonny's enthusiasm.

Dimidium's serials were _weird_. Yes, every system had different cultural standards, but the dramatic tension in these hinged on odd cues: particular drum rhythms, dead silences if one character laughed at the wrong moment, and, incredibly, the phrase "going to the moons." Whenever a character was going to the moons, that meant something truly momentous and metaphorical, which seemed to be totally separate from the actual act of traveling to any of the moons of the gas giant. In fact, a lot of the serials took place on the moon colonies, and people still talked about going to the moons like it meant something else. It wasn't anything straightforward, like an afterlife. It had something to do with their belief in cycles, maybe?

Jonny was riveted. Not all the serials were good, of course, but in his third week of immersion in Dimidium's channels, he came across a show called _Never to Return_. It was about a woman whose childhood sweetheart had gone to the moons; now the woman was an adult, with a high-powered job managing a tech corporation with expansionist aims on one of the underdeveloped moons, and another high-powered woman courting her to move to a luxury moon and oversee their combined corporate empire. The childhood sweetheart appeared to the protagonist in dreams, usually with warnings of disaster, very often made up to look as though she had died in various ways. They were deeply in love, no matter how the other high-powered woman was wooing the protagonist, and as the show progressed it became obvious that some sort of time-travel was involved and that the childhood sweetheart hadn't gone to the moons after all, but had something worse befall her. The season ended with the most portentous warning of all; a moon exploded; it was unclear who had survived; Jonny went to find the next episode--

It had been _canceled_.

"Are you fucking kidding me," Jonny said to his screen.

The serial remained canceled.

It wasn't _finished_ , was the problem: obviously, that was the problem, but Jonny knew down to his bones that cutting a story off like that was one of the few acts of violence he couldn't get behind. A properly-set-out series of events transformed meaningless incidents into moments of meaning and beauty. The show being canceled reduced it once more to random pointlessness. It wasn't a tragedy; it wasn't anything.

"I'll show you some fucking moons," Jonny said. He stalked from his quarters. "Nastya!" he yelled. "Ashes! Brian!" He reconsidered this. "Brian if you're feeling fun today! Tim! Dimidium is no longer producing literally anything of worth, and it is going _down_."

Nastya opened a ceiling panel and peered down at him. "Seriously?" she said.

"Seriously!" Jonny told her. "They fucking canceled my favorite serial."

Nastya shrugged. "Okay, if you get Tim and Ashes on board. I'm staying out of it."

"Fine," Jonny said. He continued down the corridor, searching for some crewmates who might respect his authority, and more importantly recognize that some retributive justice was in order. Tim hadn't blown up a moon in a while. It was time to have some proper entertainment.

**palimpsest**

Nastya never talked about Cyberia, which was fair enough. Convenient, even: people tended to expect a reciprocation of stories when they talked about themselves, and Jonny hated that, the expectation that one vulnerability deserved another. There was little risk of vulnerability with Nastya, who wrapped herself in trenchcoats and sarcasm and, on one memorably baffling occasion, the Aurora's cabling. Jonny had left that one alone, as quickly as possible. Nastya was an absolute fucking weirdo about the ship, but if she preferred the Aurora's company to Jonny's or the doc's, well, that was just good sense, really.

"She replaced your blood?" Jonny said once, early in their cohabitation. "Really? And denied herself a snack?" Nastya had stared at him like he'd said something even further outside her paradigm than usual, and said, "Yes; I was bleeding out. It was practical." Jonny had laughed, and not been able to stop for a long while. Nastya sat with him. 

Nastya was alright, even for an absolute fucking weirdo.

* 

Ivy screamed for weeks. Whatever the doc had done to her brain, it took more adjusting than either Jonny or Nastya had needed. Then one day Ivy appeared in the mess, her hair freshly dyed bright teal, her nails freshly painted, and offered Jonny her hand with a bright, curious smile. Jonny half-expected something to happen when he took it -- for her skin to feel electric, or her expression to collapse into horror -- but Ivy simply looked pleased. She spent the next half-hour talking Jonny's ear off about her organization plans for her personal shipboard library. Jonny didn't care, but it was quieter than the screaming, at least.

*

"Burned down the whole fucking planet," Ashes said, such a casual statement of fact that it made a full orbit into screaming bravado. They were wedged with Jonny in one of his favorite cargo-hold nooks, warm against his side. Jonny didn't much care for other people up in his space, but Ashes had offered to share their cigarettes, and they simply ignored Jonny when he dug an elbow into their side to make more space for himself.

"Fuck," Jonny said. "I burned down one casino. You grandstanding bastard."

"Go big or go home." Ashes cut a smile at Jonny, like a match struck against his ribs, lighting him up from the inside. Nastya and Ivy were crewmates of circumstance, their shared association with the doc doing nothing to sand down the jagged edges of their differences, their histories held secret, palimpsests on which more interesting stories had yet to be written. But Ashes O'Reilly had been betrayed by their Uncle Mickey and burnt down an entire planet in retribution -- what a _good fucking story_ \-- and they'd never go home again. Heat flared under Jonny's collar, fire rolling all the way out to his fingertips, something stronger than mere recognition. Ashes, Jonny understood.

*

Drumbot Brian was not technically a robot and had yet to play the drums in Jonny's presence, which made him at least two thirds of a liar, and therefore probably worth Jonny's time. The brass of his body was a lovely, deep color, just a shade lighter than the wire of his hair and beard. Jonny wondered vaguely whether these details were recreations of Brian's original body, and if so, why the doc had bothered, and, most importantly, what the texture of Brian's hair was.

"Probably the way copper wire feels when you've stripped cabling," was Nastya's guess. "Bet it's just like ... hair," Ashes said. "There is at least a sixty point three percent chance that the hair and beard are all one solid, intricate carving," Ivy opined when asked, startling Jonny by actually finding his question more interesting than her current reading. Jonny hoped that Brian's hair felt like the wire scrubbers you used to get stubborn crusts off dishes.

"I hear that my hair has been the topic of some discussion," Brian said, on a day that Jonny had been pinballing through the ship, at loose ends and doing nothing more interesting than taking desultory potshots at the octokittens. Brian was on the bridge, engaged in some kind of discussion with the Aurora through one of her monitors, but when Jonny came careening in, he'd put that conversation on pause to discuss the hair thing.

"The topic's been sort of your whole situation," Jonny said, waving a hand to encompass Drumbot Brian's whole situation.

"I'd have thought the morality switch was more interesting than the hair," Brian said.

Jonny went still. "The what?"

It was fascinating to watch Brian's metal face, which was mobile enough to signal emotion. Jonny caught surprise, chagrin, and rueful resignation in quick succession. "Dr. Carmilla, among many other innovations, installed me with a morality switch," he said. "Its current setting is labeled Means Justify Ends: I'll only take morally justifiable action, is I believe the long and short of it. For instance, it seems wrong to lie to you, and this setting makes it difficult to do so."

"And the other one?" Jonny asked.

"Ends Justify Means. Self-explanatory. I probably would have lied to you just now." Brian took in the look on Jonny's face, whatever it was, and smiled. "Or maybe not: please don't think of it as a binary cannot lie/lies compulsively switch. It simply reshuffles my ... priorities. Anyway, it's a philosophical quandary and a psychological nightmare waiting to happen, so I mostly just get on with things."

"Fuck," Jonny said, because nothing seemed especially sufficient. "Well, remind me to change your settings before we get into a shootout."

"That sounds reasonable." Brian hesitated. "Would you like to find out how my hair feels?"

"Is that a morally justifiable action?" Jonny asked, aware that as a joke it was pathetically flat even as he said it. But Brian simply shrugged, unbothered, so, what the hell, Jonny did want to know how his hair felt. He drifted over to touch it, carefully, where it was curling out in soft waves that brushed Brian's shoulders.

Ashes' guess had been closest: it did feel like hair, more or less, if hair had the heaviness and temperature of metal. But it parted around Jonny's fingers the way hair ought, and when he gave it an experimental tug, it straightened and bounced back much the same way hair would. Jonny wondered whether Brian's metal skin would yield the same way. He had been thinking of Brian as the sculpture of a person, more or less, but this shifted his understanding.

"Huh," Jonny said. "Weird."

Brian only laughed. "Yes," he said. "Very."

*

Jonny had no idea where the Toy Soldier had come from, or why it stayed. He tried to airlock it once, experimentally, but it was back the next day, happily thanking Jonny for allowing it to enjoy the beautiful view of the stars so up-close and personal. Fine. Its cheer grated on Jonny's nerves something awful, but it had a voice like an angel, and it was always up for a duet.

**the king of clubs**

Jonny's first fuck was a boy back on his planet of origin. It felt good but not great, and the boy called him the wrong name and kissed his face afterwards, so softly that Jonny could barely stop himself from biting hard enough to draw blood--

No. Jonny's first fuck was--

Fuck. What's a good story about a fumbling first time, anyway?

*

"Go big or go home." Ashes cut a smile at Jonny, like a match struck against his ribs, lighting him up from the inside. Heat flared under his collar, fire rolling all the way out to his fingertips. It was difficult not to squirm. Jonny's skin felt too tight. He wanted to shoot something, or get kicked while he was down. He just _wanted_. 

"Ashes," Jonny said. He leant forward and ground his cigarette out against a bulkhead. "Want to fuck?"

Ashes fumbled their inhale and coughed. It took them a moment to speak. "Huh. I took you for the sort to just go in for a kiss and not talk about it."

Jonny scowled. "I'm not gonna just kiss someone out of the blue. Someone did that to me, they'd get a black eye."

"Noted." Ashes stubbed out their own cigarette. "But sure, I'd fuck you." They eyed him contemplatively, and Jonny's brief annoyance burned out like flash paper under that regard. Ashes was looking at him like they were measuring what he might be able to take, and so far, Jonny knew, the answer was _everything_. "I don't fuck nicely," Ashes said.

"I don't _want_ nice," Jonny told them. "You just told me you burned down your whole planet and then I asked you to fuck me, what do you _think_ I want?"

Ashes laughed. "Oh, I can't wait to find out."

They went to Ashes' quarters. Jonny didn't know whether it was because Ashes wanted to be in charge of the space or because they'd figured Jonny wanted an escape route, but he could grit his teeth through the possibility of being understood. 

He didn't have long to think about it: the second the door to their quarters slid closed behind them, Ashes had him crowded up against the doorframe, a proprietary hand on his jaw as they drew him into a kiss. Jonny opened up to it in hungry relief, gripping at Ashes' lapels. They were pleasantly of a height with him, and they kissed with a devouring confidence that made Jonny feel hot and frantic. For a few minutes Jonny was content to be kissed, getting wound slowly tighter as Ashes thoroughly explored his mouth. But they weren't touching him anywhere except his jaw, and Jonny had never been a patient man. He tried to bite at Ashes' lip.

"Ah, none of that," Ashes said, pulling back and pressing Jonny to the door with a firm arm across Jonny's chest. "You going to be a brat?"

Jonny pushed back against their arm, not particularly hard. "Fight me," he suggested.

"The plan is to fuck you," Ashes said. "The brattier you are, the bigger the strap I use, and the less likely I am to decide you get to come at all."

Molten heat flooded Jonny. His hips stuttered forward involuntarily. He met Ashes' eyes and very deliberately bit their arm.

Ashes' expression lit. They pushed Jonny firmly into the wall and slapped him across the face, a brisk and almost-perfunctory hit that nevertheless went straight to Jonny's cunt, then shoved Jonny towards their bunk. "On the bed, d'Ville."

Jonny collapsed down on Ashes' bunk, not because he was especially interested in being obedient but because he wasn't sure how much longer his legs were going to hold. He fumbled with his belt buckles, unwound them, pulled off several layers of shirts, kicked off his boots; if there was a sexy way to undress, he didn't know it, but the theory that undressing frantically enough was its own kind of show had served him well so far. Down to just his trousers, Jonny rolled over, and his mouth went dry.

Ashes was naked, and holding themself with exactly the same casually confident swagger they did when fully clothed. They were currently preoccupied with tightening the straps of their harness, in which was set a dildo both long and thick enough that Jonny was fairly sure he'd be feeling it up to his throat.

"So where exactly on the brattiness scale is this one?" Jonny wanted to know. He'd meant to sound insouciant but suspected that he'd come off instead as desperately horny.

Ashes hummed thoughtfully. "On the bigger side. Not my biggest."

"Fuck," Jonny said.

"Getting there," Ashes said, a smile curling one side of their mouth. "Want to do something useful with your mouth for once?"

"Fuck you," Jonny said, because he couldn't let that pass unremarked, but when Ashes reached out and dragged him forward by the hair, he followed the pull with enthusiasm, sliding down off Ashes' bunk. Ashes gave him a patient moment to regain his balance on his knees, then renewed their grip on his hair and guided Jonny's mouth to their cock. Jonny licked at it, wrapping one hand around the base and bringing his other up to touch Ashes beneath the dildo, but Ashes gave that wrist a light smack.

"Hands to yourself, Jonny," they said. Jonny shrugged, pressing forward to fit more of their cock into his mouth, and clasped his hands behind his back. He was grateful when Ashes didn't say anything more. Instead, they kept both hands fisted in Jonny's hair and fucked into his throat, slowly enough that they had to be testing his gag reflex. A few tears escaped the corners of Jonny's eyes, saliva beginning to slip down his chin, but despite the stretch of his lips, he was perfectly comfortable: he couldn't breathe properly, was going dizzy from the lack of oxygen, felt fucking fantastic, actually. 

"You're pretty when you're not mouthing off," Ashes said, a smile in their voice. From someone else, _pretty_ might have made Jonny recoil, but Ashes' tone was fondly degrading, not complimentary. Jonny could handle that.

The next slow thrust of their hips was deep enough that Jonny did choke. He didn't mind, but Ashes pulled out of his mouth, giving him a moment to cough and catch his breath. They reached down and swiped their thumb across his lip. "Not bad," Ashes said. "Trousers off. Back on the bed."

Jonny got to his feet, only swaying a little. He was feeling hazy enough that his hands didn't shake as he tugged his trousers and pants off, and the slight tremble in his legs as he sat back on Ashes' bunk wasn't any worse than it ever was in this situation. Baring his whole body to someone for the first time tended to set him right the fuck on edge, but he made himself look up at Ashes. They were still smiling that pleased and proprietary little smile, their eyes dark, not looking like they were expecting anything from Jonny but what they were seeing. "Hands and knees," they said.

 _Make me_ , Jonny was tempted to say, but that was pure reflex. He had the sense that posturing for Ashes wouldn't make a bit of difference. So Jonny repositioned himself, shutting his eyes and dropping his head between his arms. Ashes knelt up on the bed behind him, warm and solid, and then the cool silicon head of their dildo was rubbing up against Jonny's cunt. Jonny had expected fingers first; he managed not to jump, and tried to keep his breathing steady.

"Fuck, you're wet," Ashes murmured approvingly.

Despite his best efforts, Jonny's arms were beginning to shake with anticipation. He hadn't had anything in him besides his own fingers for a while, and Ashes' strap was _big_. "Sometime today, Ashes," he snapped.

Ashes laughed darkly and thrust forward, pushing just the head in. Jonny trembled, feeling stretched wide; he tried to raise his hips to meet it, but Ashes set a hand on his ass. "Oh no, I know what you're trying to do. You're expecting me to just give it to you hard, right? That's not how this works. I told you." 

" _Ashes_ ," Jonny said, his voice splintering. He felt slick and swollen and like if Ashes didn't hurt him soon, he'd lose his mind. Ashes laughed again and rocked into Jonny slowly, a torturous inch at a time, until Jonny was clawing at the sheets, panting and swearing. Every time he tried to push back into it, Ashes stilled him with their hands. Jonny became aware that his half-coherent cursing had become a continuous whisper of _fuck me fuck me fuck me_. He hadn't known it would be so easy to make him beg, but he didn't have the wherewithal to stop.

Finally, _finally_ Ashes bottomed out. Jonny squirmed on their cock, feeling so full that he could hardly see straight. "Ashes, fuck, fuck, come on--"

"You asked for it," Ashes said, sounding deeply amused. They pulled back out, nearly all the way, then slammed into him. Jonny's vision went white at the edges. He choked on a scream. "Oh, that's good," Ashes said, and did it again, again, again, steady and precise and brutal. Jonny couldn't stop the little sounds of agonized pleasure that punched out of him every time Ashes thrust home. He did his best to brace himself, trying to stay at all upright even as Ashes fucked him so hard he could barely stay on his knees. Jonny distantly suspected that he might only still be in position by dint of the way Ashes was holding onto his hips.

He couldn't reliably come without touching his dick, but the relentless pounding was getting him close, floating deliciously at the edge of enough. Without thinking, Jonny readjusted the way he was braced, shifting his weight to one arm and freeing a hand.

Ashes immediately stilled. Jonny made an incoherent noise of frustration. "Jonny," Ashes said, "did I fucking say you could touch yourself?"

"Ashes," Jonny panted, "Ashes, _move_."

In reply, Ashes smacked his ass sharply, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Then they pulled out entirely, leaving Jonny twitching and clenching around nothing. They settled back on the bed. "Ride me, and if you do a good job, I'll think about letting you come."

 _Fuck you_ , Jonny wanted to say, but he was too unfocused and turned on and desperate to even manage those words. Instead, he made his unsteady way up the bed to straddle their hips, Ashes shifting obligingly to help him line up. Jonny sank back down on the dildo, the new angle making his legs shake. It felt even deeper this way. " _Fuck_ ," Jonny hissed, all his muscles coming unstrung as Ashes began to move their hips in small grinding circles. He made an attempt to move with them, sinking up and back down, his head thrown back in what was only a half-conscious attempt at making a show of himself. 

Ashes scraped their nails down his legs, watching him with the smug smile on their face gone hazy with pleasure. "There you go," they murmured, and finally brought a hand up to rub their thumb over his dick in focused insistent counterpoint to their slow thrusts.

Almost immediately it was enough to push Jonny over the edge. He came in warm pulses and collapsed forward, panting. Ashes laughed softly. They continued grinding up, the circling pressure of their thumb on Jonny's dick not changing. "Ashes," Jonny choked, twitching.

"Yeah, Jonny?" They rolled their hips, still so fucking deep in him, looking lazily satisfied with themself. 

The intensity of sensation, between their strap and their hand on him, was speeding rapidly towards pain. Jonny felt wild with anticipatory joy. "Do whatever the fuck you want," he panted.

"Mm, I think I will." Ashes continued their leisurely thrusting until Jonny was squirming and breathing in ragged gasps edging towards sobs. It was much too much, the overwhelm of a sensation so perfectly balanced between agony and pleasure that Jonny couldn't do more than let it happen. It took him a moment to realize that Ashes had stopped touching him. He refocused when they lightly tapped his face. "Still with me?" they asked. 

Jonny tried to collect his scattershot nerves and managed a nod. "Great," said Ashes, and rolled them over, hitching Jonny's knees up over their shoulders and lining back up. "Do scream if you're inclined," they told him. "It's good to feel appreciated."

Then they fucked him into the mattress. Jonny probably did scream; he certainly laughed, the uncontrollable laughter that sometimes took him when he was in the midst of a shootout or a certain quality of pain, half-breathless and with tears escaping the corners of his eyes. He came again, this time without being touched at all, seconds before Ashes groaned into his shoulder and collapsed next to him, languid and replete.

By degrees, Jonny's breathing settled. He felt fiercely satisfied and not entirely tethered to his body. If there was any justice in the universe, he'd be feeling what Ashes had done for days, and as it was, he'd probably get to enjoy the soreness for an hour or two at least before it faded. 

"Fuck, your eyeliner is _everywhere_ ," Ashes remarked from an inch away.

Jonny grinned without opening his eyes. If this was Ashes' idea of pillow talk, they had a long and promising series of hookups ahead of them. "Bite me," he said.

**the doc's lab**

Marius liked to cook meals for everyone to eat together in the mess. He'd apparently gone around asking the whole crew what their favorite foods were, something that had struck Jonny, when asked, as an invasive question bordering on a shooting offense. He had answered, though. (Cornbread, beans, and meat smoked and smothered in interesting sauces.) Marius was only middling as a chef, but that was frankly miles ahead of most of them, so when Marius cooked, they all appeared in the mess, even Brian, who was only there out of politeness, and the Toy Soldier, who enjoyed being included.

The crew didn't usually all spend time together unless they were in rehearsals or revolutions: an array of personalities like theirs did best with some space between them. But Marius's mealtimes were neutral territory, sacrosanct enough that Jonny did his best to keep his guns holstered even if someone really grated at his nerves.

Usually, that someone was the Toy Soldier. Today, somewhat to his surprise, it was Raphaella.

She was always in the middle of at least three deadly experiments, and she enjoyed talking about them to anyone who would listen. Over their current meal, her listeners were Brian, the Toy Soldier, Tim, and possibly Ivy, although it was even odds if she was paying more attention to Raphaella or her book. Marius was pretending to listen, badly. Ashes wasn't even making the effort. Nastya was wholly focused on her food. And Jonny, to whom most science projects sounded exactly the same, was flicking bits of his meal at Marius and taking bets with himself about how long it would take him to notice.

Raphaella's nonsense ran on in the background. "...assuming an amputation, what are the deciding factors on regrowth versus grafting? Assuming a beheading, do we function as two autonomous entities until we're put back together?"

"Jonny was beheaded for two days!" the Toy Soldier supplied. Jonny's attention snapped to the conversation. "He couldn't speak, but his head still made all sorts of expressions! His body _did_ tend to flail about, so I stored it in an escape pod!"

"That's an interesting data point," Raphaella said, looking excited. "But it's only one data point. We have at least four years to the next system, which is plenty of time for me to set up some parameters for a control group--"

"No," Jonny said.

"Well, if you don't want to be beheaded again," Raphaella said, her tone conveying her general disbelief that anyone _wouldn't_ want to be beheaded for science, "most of us could do just as well, and--"

"No," Jonny said again. He longed to go for his gun. He felt like his edges were vibrating. "It'd be pointless. The data's already aboard ship." To Raphaella's look of surprise and rising inquiry, Jonny said, "Limb regrowth, blood loss, recovery from getting your fucking brains blown out, it's all there."

"Where?" Raphaella asked eagerly.

Dimly Jonny heard Brian say his name, in a careful way that he hated. He ignored it. "The doc's lab," he said brightly.

Raphaella's eyebrows went up. She seemed suddenly aware that she was nearing an abyss with no idea where its edges were, which of course did nothing to stop her. "I did assume that Dr. Carmilla's laboratory would yield some interesting finds," she said, "but last I checked, it was soldered shut."

"Huh. Funny," Jonny said, grinning at her. "Wonder why that would be."

"Jonny," Nastya said, the tiredness in her voice penetrating where Brian's wariness hadn't. "It's fine. I doubt everything in there has been neutralized, but Raphaella will find it interesting. I'm going to let her in."

Raphaella's gaze darted between Jonny and Nastya and back again. "I would appreciate that," she ventured.

Jonny sat with a scream still lodged in his throat, unable to stop grinning at her. He didn't say anything else. Raphaella's metallic feathers clicked against each other nervously; she was the first to look away.

"I'll get the door open after we're done here," Nastya said.

"I have a request, first," Tim put in. "I noticed an asteroid field forty-five degrees starboard, half a parsec out. Could we head there? I retrofitted the exterior cannons last year and I haven't had time to test them out on anything celestial."

"I wish you wouldn't keep attaching fancy guns to her," Nastya grumbled, but she must have caught something in Tim's face, because she heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, you and Jonny can do your stupid target practice."

"Thanks, Nastya," Tim said, smiling at her. He knocked his shoulder lightly against Jonny's. "Ready to explode something?"

Jonny knew very well he was being managed. He'd probably stab Tim about it later. For the moment, though, he let the tension leave his shoulders, unclenched his jaw, and gave Tim a different flavor of smile than he'd been shooting at Raphaella. "Literally always," he said.

**ghost in the machine**

It wasn't that Jonny was against shipfucking on principle. For one thing, Jonny had very few principles. For another, assuming sufficient machine intelligence, the shipfucking was consensual and Jonny had no further questions. So far, so good: where this attitude broke down was in the specifics. Specifically, he really didn't want to know about Nastya's sex life.

She didn't overshare, exactly. She was just very matter-of-fact about it, and brought it up whenever it was even vaguely relevant. Jonny was also fucking several members of the crew on the regular, but he didn't try to work that fact into every conversation. (When he complained about this to Ashes, they gave him a flat look and said, "Yeah, but Nastya and Aurora are in love, Jonny," which felt like a non-sequitur, as responses went.) 

"Next system in eight years," Nastya announced over breakfast one morning, "so if anyone needs me, don't."

She tended to disappear into the Aurora's innards for significant stretches of their long-haul trips. "Don't get eaten by octokittens," Jonny said. "Or do, I don't really care. Just tell Aurora to _not_ broadcast your sex noises this time. I still haven't recovered."

"That happened _once_ ," Nastya shot back. "I adjusted her parameters. Wish I could adjust yours, don't think I didn't hear _your_ sex noises the other day, and you're that loud without the speaker system augmenting it--"

Jonny flipped her off. Nastya stuck her tongue out at him. Ashes, down the table, said mildly, "Settle down, children," and grinned when Jonny and Nastya made identical horrible faces at them.

*

The Aurora's engines shuddered and cut out. Jonny blinked in the darkness. There was a moment of silence, then a whirr and hum as the systems turned back on, the lights flickering to life, and the Aurora continued on her way as though nothing had happened. Jonny hit the nearest comm button. "Brian?"

"Temporary glitch, looks like," Brian replied. "Should I ping Nastya about it?"

"It's probably her fault anyway," Jonny said. "No, don't bother." He scowled at the paneling. The last time this had happened, the Aurora had shut down for hours, and the Toy Soldier had found Nastya crying on the engineering deck because she'd had an argument with her stupid girlfriend who was also their home. Jonny had no idea what it meant that whatever the Aurora had done this time had only lasted a few seconds. He didn't want to know.

He stomped down to engineering.

Everything seemed normal. Jonny poked around in alcoves and air ducts. He didn't find Nastya anywhere, crying or otherwise. Several octokittens scattered when he opened a hatch to one of the crawl spaces, but there were no other signs of life. "Aurora," Jonny said, "we're good?"

She didn't answer, but then, he and the Aurora weren't usually on casual speaking terms. Jonny wondered absently if people who believed in gods talked to them like this, confident that their words were heard but not really expecting a reply. 

He left the engineering deck and made his way back up the body of the ship, no longer really on the lookout for Nastya. Halfway to the bridge, the engines cut out again, leaving Jonny in the dark. He'd been floating up the corridor in a way that had him on a straight trajectory to the next door, but nevertheless Jonny flung his hands out in front of him, expecting to crash into something because that was how this day was going. The lights came back on before he'd hit the door, but it was a longer blackout than the last one had been. Jonny jackknifed back around. He had a suspicion where Nastya was, and he knew that she wouldn't want to be disturbed, but tough.

The central chamber of the Aurora's engine was vast and beautiful, a tangle of tubes and wires that Jonny couldn't begin to understand. She glowed with writhing purple-white light, and Jonny knew that if he ventured any closer, he'd get electrocuted and, if he was lucky, he'd simply be spat back out to revive in one of the nearby service corridors. Jonny hovered in the entrance duct, took a deep breath, and yelled, "Nastya!"

There was no response, but the humming silence took on a mildly annoyed edge. "Aurora keeps fucking turning off," Jonny told the engine room, still loudly enough to carry. "So, fix that, maybe?" More silence, and Jonny added, "I'm not leaving until you tell me you're fixing it."

The thrumming silence stretched. Jonny tapped his fingers against the doorframe and whistled Jack Sprat's drinking song as shrilly as he could manage. He heard muffled cursing, and shuffling, and Nastya crawled into view, her hair in disarray, her cheeks flushed silver and her eyes glazed. She was thankfully wrapped in her trench coat. 

" _What_?" she snapped.

What, indeed. Jonny hadn't actually thought ahead. "Aurora keeps turning off," he repeated. "Is everything ... okay?" He should have sent Brian. He should have sent Ashes. He should have sent fucking anyone else, because if the answer was that things weren't okay, the only person on hand to react to that news was Jonny.

"Everything is fine," Nastya said, and rolled her eyes when Jonny's shoulders visibly untensed. "We were having a very nice time before you interrupted. A _very nice time_."

"Ew, no, no details," Jonny protested. "Could you have a nice time without Aurora shutting down?"

A corner of Nastya's mouth tilted up. "No."

Jonny stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"I could explain in detail," Nastya said, "but..." She leant forward, holding Jonny's gaze. Jonny recognized her expression as one of pure shit-stirring malice. "It would be too intimate for you."

"That is _not_ the issue!" Jonny snapped. "It's not the intimacy, it's the--" He floundered. 

It was the Nastya of it all. He'd been there when the doc had brought her back, when she'd revived on the Aurora, gasping in panic and looking down at her living self in bafflement. He'd been there when she ran her hands over the Aurora's panels and curves, tears in her eyes, murmuring in incomprehensible Cyberian, her face lighting up when the ship hummed in response. Jonny had known Nastya for longer than he'd known anyone else in the universe, and he'd seen her at her most vulnerable, and it was -- it was private. Jonny wouldn't have wanted anyone to see him the way he'd seen Nastya. 

"I'm not interested in the details," Jonny settled on, which wasn't right at all, but was the best he had.

She made a noise of skeptical derision, but only said, "Okay, without the details, Aurora will probably continue having outages until we figure out some energy reconfiguration, and we're not going to do that for a while because, as I said, we're having a very nice time."

"My sex life doesn't cause any fucking power outages," Jonny grumbled.

"Yes," Nastya agreed. "Your sex life is boring."

Jonny flicked a finger at her nose. She bit at it, but missed. Jonny found himself grinning, and Nastya smiled back, only a bit of exasperation at the edges. "Guess I'll leave you to your gross intimacy now," Jonny said. "Have fun or whatever."

The power went out four more times over the next day. Jonny spent most of that day on the bridge with Brian, playing games to pass the time, and did his best to ignore it.

**places that once were whole**

If Jonny were a betting man -- well. Jonny frequently _was_ a betting man, but he hadn't bet on this, so the turn of phrase stood. If Jonny were a betting man, he'd have bet that sex with Tim was going to have some emotional complications on Tim's end. 

The first time, Jonny actually thought he'd been wrong.

They'd been on the planet of Tadmor for a week, taking in the local color, which came mainly in the form of magnetic light shows in the atmosphere. Most of the crew seemed to be enjoying themselves, but the atmospheric hiss kept making Tim flinch, and Jonny, who had enjoyed the spectacular splashes and undulating sheets of color for the first few days, was already finding them insufficient as an entertainment. On this particular night, Jonny was contemplating figuring out what counted as a disturbance of the peace on Tadmor and then disturbing it. He'd brought Tim with him because Tim was also at loose ends, and good in a corner if disturbing the peace meant exploding it.

The atmosphere hissed overhead, late-evening blue-green lighting up the sky. Tim froze. Jonny, who was still walking at a normal place, crashed into him. He had a moment to think, with bright amusement, that the atmospheric sound was remarkably like the noise that had filled the moon tunnels in the moment before the gas sirens went. Then Tim was whirling, slamming Jonny bodily into the nearest wall. 

Jonny wasn't especially interested in being murdered in a panic tonight, so he headbutted Tim. Tim staggered back and looked up with a wild expression on his face. Jonny had a horrible moment where he thought Tim might apologize; instead, Tim stepped forward, fisted one hand in Jonny's collar, and wound the other back for a punch. Jonny grinned and braced himself.

The punch didn't come.

"Well, come on, this is the most interesting thing that's happened since we got here," Jonny said.

Tim's face was half-shadowed, palely lit by the shifting magnetic glow overhead. His eyes, when they met Jonny's, were as lovely and strange as they'd been the first time Jonny had seen them set into his face. Tim was beautiful the way a burning building was beautiful, and Jonny still wanted to touch him to see if it would hurt. Tim's hand on his collar was searing his skin, and he wanted Tim's other hand on him, too. Tim was looking at him so closely.

"What?" Jonny snapped, squirming in his grip.

Tim surged forward and kissed him, teeth sinking into Jonny's lip. On principle, anyone who kissed Jonny unexpectedly got punched in the face. But it wasn't unexpected, really: Jonny had been bracing for this since Tim had attacked him in the med bay. Jonny grabbed at Tim's coat and gave as good as he got, heat racing through him when Tim moaned into the kiss.

Too soon, Tim pulled back. Jonny chased his mouth: he felt too good to stop, and if Tim was about to do something awful like start _talking_ , Jonny wanted to cut that off at the pass. "Jonny," Tim said, sounding gratifyingly breathless, "wait a moment."

" _What_?" Jonny said. Tim's lips were kiss-bitten, his mouth shining in the magnetic light, and Jonny was transfixed. He wanted to kiss Tim again, get his hands up inside Tim's shirt, wring more sweet noises from him; he didn't want to fucking pause and talk about it. But Tim didn't say anything: instead, he renewed his grip on Jonny's collar, and before Jonny had a chance to do anything but start an inarticulate protest, Tim began dragging him bodily in the direction of the opulent hotel that the crew had chosen as their base of operations. It was nearby, so Jonny let Tim pull him along, but he still thought it was worth offering, "Look, we don't have to go anywhere, I can just blow you in an alley--"

"Shut up, Jonny," Tim suggested. Jonny cackled and did his best to keep up. 

The hotel was exactly the sort of expensive that meant the concierge glanced up, saw that Tim was pulling Jonny by the collar toward the lift, and merely bobbed their head in polite greeting, letting Jonny and Tim get on with it. The lift, mirrored and artificially colored to look like the shifting night sky outside, was empty except for the two of them, so Jonny crowded Tim into a corner and kissed him again. Tim made the loveliest breathy noises, kissing back like an argument. This was going to be _good_. Jonny couldn't wait to see how Tim would be when he was falling apart on Jonny's cock.

"Fuck," Jonny muttered, pulling back. " _Fuck_ , I left my dick on the Aurora."

"Well, I have mine right here," Tim said, smiling lopsidedly. "Next time?"

Jonny stared at him, taking a second to work out that Tim wasn't laughing at him, or being weird about what Jonny had just thoughtlessly blurted, or humoring him. He had to take another second to work out how he felt about the fact that Tim was already expecting a next time when they hadn't got that far into this time. He gave up: he refused to have any complex feelings until he'd had at least two orgasms. "Yeah, alright," Jonny said.

They made it as far as one of the hotel rooms, the door slamming shut behind them, before Jonny was tearing at Tim's clothes and pressing biting kisses to his throat. Several buttons went flying as Tim writhed against him, his own hands scrabbling with Jonny's to get his vest undone. Jonny shoved Tim's coat off, got started undoing his shirt, sucked at Tim's pulse-point while Tim made pleased, desperate little noises and tilted his head back to give Jonny more room. It made Jonny want to tear Tim's throat out. 

Instead, he kissed his way up Tim's beard to his mouth again while Tim fumbled with his own belt. Jonny tugged Tim's shirttails out of the way, undid his trousers, and got a hand in. Tim whimpered, hips stuttering forward, cock sliding hot against the curve of Jonny's palm. He gave Tim two good strokes, then squeezed too tightly, just to see what he would do. Tim went stiff, clamped a hand on the back of Jonny's neck, and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, which was _perfect_. Jonny eased his grip, kissing Tim until he was sure both their mouths were smeared crimson, then drew back enough to rasp, "Blow job's still on offer."

Tim shook his head vehemently. "I want to _touch_ you," he said.

Jonny huffed a laugh. Who the fuck said that sort of thing? But -- yeah, alright, Jonny wanted that too; he'd wanted to touch every inch of Tim for ages now. He felt hot and frantic and fiercely happy, and he wasn't about to argue. He gripped Tim's trouser beltloop in his free hand and yanked him towards the nearest bed.

They fell onto it together in a tangle, still fighting to get one another out of their clothes. "You wear too many fucking belts," Tim snarled; "You gotta work for it, sweetheart," Jonny retorted, and laughed again when Tim smacked him with the end of one of said belts. Jonny was still in his shirt by the time they were otherwise naked, but when Tim attempted to pull it off him, Jonny panted, "Get on with it," and grinned into a pillow as Tim pressed him face-first into the bed. Tim leant forward, hair falling in dark curtains around both of them, and bit the back of Jonny's neck, _hard_ , a careful finger sliding into Jonny's cunt. Jonny cursed, scrabbling about until he could locate Tim's nearest thigh and claw at it while he rocked back onto Tim's finger. "Don't be fucking gentle--"

"You've got to work for it, sweetheart," Tim said, like an absolute prick.

Jonny half-twisted until he could get at Tim's mouth again. Tim moaned into the kiss and pressed two more fingers into Jonny's cunt, so he was in fact an easy fucking mark. Jonny gave an obliging whimper, then wailed much more honestly when Tim curled his fingers just so and rubbed his thumb over Jonny's dick. "Yeah, Tim, fuck," Jonny gasped, and leant into the next kiss. He loved how roughly Tim was fingering him, the kisses that were more than half teeth, his head tilted at an angle that nearly hurt. It didn't take long for Jonny to come, keyed-up and shaking, Tim pinning him to the bed while he thrashed through it.

"That was--" Tim murmured.

"If you're about to compliment me, don't," Jonny told him, words a little smeared in the aftershocks. "Hurry up and fuck me, I want to go again."

"You're a real charmer, you know," Tim said, halfway between exasperated and something softer. In reply, Jonny pointedly lifted his ass. Tim gave a theatrical sigh, but he also adjusted Jonny's position and slid into him, hot and good. One hand was tight on Jonny's shoulder, still half-pinning him to the bed, the other reached around to continue rubbing Jonny's dick while he rocked into him. Jonny keened into the pillow, hips rising to meet his. Tim responded with a brutally hard thrust, another, the kind of fucking that was less about making Jonny take it than simply chasing his own pleasure. "Fuck, _Jonny_ ," he panted, and bit down again on the back of Jonny's neck in exactly the same place he had before. It probably wasn't hard enough to draw blood, but Jonny hoped it would. 

Between the pain and Tim pounding into him, his hand still stroking Jonny in counterpoint, Jonny could feel a cataclysm of an orgasm approaching. Tim's rhythm was going more frantic, his breath starting to stutter. Through the haze of pleasure, Jonny was visited with the realization that Tim was trying to hold on until he'd come again. Jonny badly wanted to be mean and make Tim go on for as long as possible, ideally until he was crying, but he was immediately thwarted by how much he liked the idea: he'd barely thought it when he was coming again, shaking apart and cursing happily into the pillow. Tim followed with a grateful little wail, and they went down in a sweaty heap.

At length, Tim raised his head from where it had been resting between Jonny's shoulders, his hair still sticking to the back of Jonny's neck. Jonny kept his eyes closed, his face pressed to the pillow, hoping that Tim knew better than to say anything about how nice this had been. He needn't have worried. Tim only yawned hugely and made a vague attempt at rolling sideways. Within moments, his breathing had gentled out and taken on the faint whistle of a snore. 

Jonny stretched luxuriously and grinned to himself. He risked a sideways glance at Tim, and yes, Tim was very much asleep, a soft, contented look on his face. When he could move again, Jonny decided, he was going to get up and take advantage of the fancy hotel shower and its excellent water pressure. That had gone really, really well. Jonny _was_ looking forward to the next time.

*

It was the next time when Tim's emotional complications happened. Jonny wasn't braced for it, was the worst part. Their first fuck had gone so well that Jonny figured he'd been mistaken, and that Tim had his own nonsense well in hand. 

He wasn't looking for Tim in particular on this occasion. He'd just got back to the Aurora, feeling fidgety and wired and slightly singed at the edges. The water riots on Pirx had been building for weeks; now half the city was in flames, and Jonny's restless energy badly needed to go somewhere. He'd have fucked almost any of the crew, really, wasn't feeling particular: Ashes had probably set half the fires themself and would be in an especially smug and satisfied mood, which was always fun; Ivy didn't tend to participate in the crew adventures where buildings ended up alight, and might be a bit melancholy about it, but she did like a distraction to which she could dedicate herself, and had on occasion eaten Jonny out until he was sobbing, kept going a bit longer for good measure, then sat on his face and told him to be grateful; he'd even have propositioned Brian, though Jonny's current mood meant that attempting to fuck the Drumbot might go poorly.

Instead, he bumped into Tim on his way back to his quarters after a sonic shower, now somewhat less singed. Tim's coat had holes in it where sparks had gone through, and he jumped when he noticed Jonny. "Hi," Jonny said. "You busy?"

"No?" Tim said, in the tones of someone wondering whether they were about to regret admitting this.

"Excellent. Want me to fuck you til you cry?"

Tim looked briefly astonished. Jonny watched with pleasure as the suggestion hit and lust flooded Tim's face. "Er, yeah, okay," Tim said.

So Jonny dragged Tim to his quarters; not always his first choice of venue, but he knew where the lube was and, more importantly, it was where he kept his strap. He'd been thinking about railing Tim since the lift on Tadmor, idle imaginings lent lovely texture by their previous encounter, and given the way Tim surged forward to meet his kiss the moment the door to his quarters closed behind them, Tim had likely been thinking of it too. 

Their undressing was as frantic as it'd been the last time, which was perfect for Jonny's current mood. Tim's clothes smelt of sulfur and destruction, and underneath them, the traces of smoke clung to his skin. Jonny tangled a hand in his hair while the other carefully fingered Tim open; Tim took it panting, his head thrown back, looking unfairly fucking beautiful. Jonny caught himself thinking that he wanted to do this again when he felt less on-edge, wanted to make an absolute mess of Tim, wanted to take enough time to drive Tim to incoherency. This time, though, Tim was already shifting restlessly and saying, breathless, "Now's good, Jonny, come on--" and Jonny wasn't going to argue that. He adjusted his strap, hitched Tim's legs up, and railed him as promised. 

Tim fell apart just as gorgeously as Jonny had hoped, wailing under the onslaught, his breath hitching on sobs, gasping "More, fuck, more, _please_ \--" until every part of Jonny felt locked up with pleasure. He'd already shaken his way through several orgasms, his legs going a bit wobbly, by the time he decided to take mercy on Tim and reached down to stroke him off. Tim came with a scream that could probably be heard halfway through the ship, and Jonny slumped next to him feeling very fucking smug about it.

He was debating whether it would be funny or just too gross if he attempted to wipe his hand off on Tim when Tim shuddered, rolling toward Jonny. Jonny let him, on the theory that Tim had fallen right asleep last time, and he could endure a minute of snuggling before that happened. He held still and allowed it when Tim burrowed against his side, one hand tentatively resting on Jonny's chest. Tim wasn't attempting to full-body cling like an octokitten, so Jonny could handle it.

Almost inaudibly, Tim murmured, "Thanks, Bertie."

It took Jonny a moment to actually process what he'd heard. His postcoital endorphins crashed into cold horror. Tim's breathing was already evening out into sleep, which was for the best, because Jonny couldn't disguise how tense he'd just gone, and he desperately didn't want to draw attention to it. If Tim had screamed his dead best friend's name in the throes of ecstasy, that would have been one thing -- cliché, horrifically embarrassing for Tim, liable to make Jonny tease him for the next five hundred years -- but this was another entirely. This was a vulnerability that Jonny hadn't known about; this was something, Jonny was very sure, that Tim wouldn't have wanted Jonny to know.

He carefully slipped out from under Tim's arm, dressed as quicky and quietly as he could, and got the fuck out. 

*

But he came back. It really should have been a hard stop: Jonny had tripped over something in Tim's tender, stupid human heart, shaken it loose when he'd thought Tim had already taken care of that part of himself, and it wasn't Jonny's business nor Jonny's mess. But.

But on Surt, Tim helped the rebels set up their artillery blockade, and when the military approached, their tanks going up in beautiful flares of explosive fire, Tim stood and watched them, his hair and coat flying in the backdraft. Jonny crowded him up against the entrenchment in an out-of-the-way alcove, their hands down each other's trousers, gasping mouths aligned, and Jonny came with his legs shaking, not regretting a second of it. 

But on Veles, Jonny was gunned down by a gang who got in some lucky shots, and he woke in an alley with Tim curled protectively over him, blood spatter across Tim's face. "Fuckers are dead now," Tim said. They both cleaned up in a restaurant washroom, and when Jonny sank to his knees and undid Tim's trousers, Tim didn't stop him, and Jonny didn't mention how Tim's breathing turned to sobs, or pull away when he heard Tim whisper, "You're still here you're _here_ ," with his hands threading in Jonny's hair. 

But back on the Aurora, both of them thoroughly fucked out, with Tim sprawled across Jonny's bunk, half-asleep already, Jonny didn't poke him awake and annoy him into leaving. Tim pressed his forehead to Jonny's shoulder, his fingertips tracing the scars on Jonny's chest, the rough raised lines across his ribs, the starburst near the center where his heart had been lifted out, Tim's touch too light to feel. Jonny let him. Jonny didn't know why he was allowing it.

Novelty, maybe.

**billy vangelis's boy**

Jonny's favorite part of the story was _I forgive you, son._ Not the forgiveness; that line existed because it sounded appropriately tragic. No: "son" from his father's lips, that was the best lie of all.

**marius von raum vs. the truth**

"I don't think anywhere called Texas has an accent like yours."

Jonny looked up from where he'd been floating in the armory, cleaning his guns and actually minding his own business. Marius was in the doorway, looking like he thought he had just made the opening gambit to a normal conversation. Marius was lucky none of Jonny's pistols were loaded.

"So what?" Jonny said.

"So..." Marius let himself drift into the armory. Jonny hadn't meant his reply to be an invitation, but Marius tended to behave like he belonged in every room he entered. "So, what's the real story about where you come from?"

" _That's_ your question?" From the look on his face, yeah, that was Marius's question. Jonny sighed explosively. "Look, _Baron_ , real stories are useless and boring and the wrong kind of depressing. I can't believe I even have to explain this to you."

Marius pulled himself to a stop near a trebuchet that Tim was saving for a special occasion, and bobbed next to it, considering this. "I mean, not everything has to follow a specific narrative format to be interesting--"

"It does to me," Jonny said. His favorite pistol was still mostly disassembled, but he figured he could get it back into working order and shoot Marius within thirty seconds if this went on much longer. "Anyway, you don't talk much about your 'real story,' so why the fuck should I?"

"Just making conversation," Marius said. Marius was a fucking terrible liar. Jonny just stared flatly at him until Marius relented and gave him a bright grin. "Actually, I was thinking about all the ... backstory songs, I guess we can call them? And leaving aside that we spend ten minutes singing about what was probably a very bad moment of Tim's life--" He paused, evidently giving Jonny a beat in which to make a flippant remark. When Jonny didn't, Marius pressed on, "Well, I noticed you play all the villains. Really, every single one! Why is that?"

"Fuck's sake, are you _psychoanalyzing_ me?" Jonny demanded. He began reassembling his pistol; should've done so the second Marius started talking, really.

"Noooo?" Marius said.

"I play the villains," Jonny said precisely, "because it's _fun_. There's no deep reason, von Raum. I sing a lot of our parts, if you hadn't noticed, also because it's fun. If you keep trying to read deeper meaning into it, you're about to get shot."

"Right, fine," Marius said, holding up his hands. "Can't blame a fellow for asking."

Jonny slid a bullet into his pistol, cocked it, and pointed it at Marius's forehead. "I fucking can," he said. But Marius didn't flinch, just kept grinning, so Jonny didn't shoot him. Not this time, at least.

*

About a year after Marius first joined the crew of the Aurora, he popped up in the mess behind Jonny, almost causing Jonny to drop a jar of flaming hot cheese puffs. "I've noticed something," Marius announced, totally ignoring how ruffled Jonny was, and thereby saving himself from immediate violence. "A lot of the crew is sleeping together."

"Bunking together or fucking?" Jonny asked.

"Oh, sex!" Marius clarified. "Though sleepovers also sound fun."

"I guess," Jonny said. "I mean, I guess a lot of us are fucking. We sometimes go decades between planets, so it would be stupid not to."

Marius nodded. "Right, right, makes sense. Er, what are the configurations? I don't need a diagram or anything -- although I'm sure Raphaella would appreciate a diagram -- but it's interpersonally interesting, and it might be nice to have some idea what's going on ahead of time if I get involved."

"And you came to me about it?" Jonny said. "Seriously? Wouldn't Ashes have been better? They're the quartermaster, I think that means they're supposed to keep track of crew matters."

"Well, I found you first," Marius said, which sounded reasonable. Still, something about the way he said it struck Jonny as suspect. 

That was interesting enough for Jonny to continue the conversation. "Right," he said. "So, Nastya is ... dating the ship." Marius's eyebrows went up. "Don't ask," Jonny said, "because she very much will tell you, and I wish I could unknow the few details I've learned. You're not a machine, so Nastya won't go for it. Brian ... mostly doesn't; he can't feel things the same way. You could ask him if you're interested, though. The Toy Soldier probably would sleep with you, but it's got a bit of a problem with consent, like, conceptually, so don't. But everyone else fucks, now and again."

Marius nodded again, taking all of this in with studious intensity. "And any emotional complications I should be aware of?"

Jonny stared at him for a long moment, and burst out laughing. Marius looked like he couldn't quite figure out what to do with his face in light of this response. Jonny got his laughter under control, besides the occasional chuckle, and managed, " _No_. Didn't you hear me? We sometimes go decades between planets. No one has time for 'emotional complications.'"

"Oh," Marius said. "Well. Good, then." He went quiet, so Jonny ate a couple flaming hot cheese puffs and waited him out. "Want to have sex sometime?"

Jonny almost laughed at him again, if only because Marius was suggesting it like he was about to pull out a little date planner and jot down _sex with JdV +1 hour Aurora night shift_ , and Jonny had never formally arranged a fuck before. But laughing at someone after they'd suggested sex was a good way to kill any interest they might've had, so Jonny swallowed his amusement and said, "Yeah, alright, I'd be good for that."

Marius beamed at him, and Jonny wondered, still with that edge of laughter, exactly what he was in for.

*

The second they got to Jonny's quarters, Marius dropped to his knees and grinned up at Jonny. "May I?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Jonny quipped, irritated at the momentary flare of his nerves when Marius reached for him. You could take the boy out of New Texas, but even centuries later, Jonny hadn't entirely carved out that one moment of stiff discomfort -- no longer terror, what the fuck was the worst thing someone could do anyway, kill him? -- when a new partner undid his trousers. But the universe was vast and contained much more than Jonny's shitty homeworld had ever dreamt of, so he felt neither any particular surprise or particular relief when Marius simply nuzzled close and began to lick at Jonny's cock without hesitation.

Jonny hitched one leg over Marius's shoulder to give him better access, bracing himself against the wall. He cupped a hand on the back of Marius's head, pressing Marius closer, and shuddered happily when Marius moaned, the sound translating to vibrations against Jonny's cunt. "I'd taken you for someone who'd start with kissing," he said conversationally. "Don't get me wrong, this is a pleasant surprise."

Marius pulled back enough to say, "This counts as kissing, though!"

"Does it," Jonny said. He tugged at Marius's hair. "Better uses for your mouth than talking, von Raum."

"Yessir," Marius said, which -- huh, sure made Jonny feel a way. He didn't have time to really process it before Marius had leant in to continue eating him out. Marius was _good_ at it, enthusiastic but not sloppy, occasionally licking into Jonny's cunt but mostly tracing his tongue in intricate patterns over Jonny's dick once he realized how much that made Jonny's legs shake. In short order Jonny was shuddering and grinding up against Marius's face, partly because it felt really fucking good and partly to see whether Marius could keep up. Marius gave another eager moan, steadied Jonny's balancing leg with a firm grip of his mechanized hand, and lapped firmly at Jonny's dick until Jonny came, arching and nearly cracking his head against the wall.

"Fuck," Jonny said faintly.

Marius carefully unhooked the leg that had been slung over his shoulder, making sure that Jonny's feet were both solidly on the floor before he rocked back on his heels, chin slick and eyes sparkling cheerfully. "So!" he said. "What next?"

Jonny grinned down at him, feeling a bit like he'd been punched in the face, delighted and unsteady on his feet. "I'd fuck you," he said.

"I'd like that," Marius said, smiling back. Fine; he'd just brought Jonny off and Jonny felt fantastic, so he supposed Marius was allowed to sound soft and happy about being fucked. As long as he wasn't expecting something slow that involved them gazing into each other's eyes; he hadn't known Marius long enough for that. He hadn't known _anyone_ long enough for that. He could probably know his crewmates until the heat death of the universe and still never reach the point where he'd want that.

"Good," Jonny said, instead of any of the nonsense he'd just thought, crossing the room a bit unsteadily. He dug a bottle of lube out of the battered filing cabinet he used as a bedside table, and tossed the lube to Marius, who caught it and rose to his feet. "Make yourself useful," Jonny suggested, and was delighted when Marius immediately began wiggling out of his clothes. When he gave orders to anyone else on the crew, he usually got a variant of _fuck you_ as a response. Jonny could put up with a lot from Marius if he was going to be this prompt and obedient in bed.

He took a moment, while undressing, to debate which strap he wanted to use. His collection was hardly as impressive as Ashes', but Jonny figured that since the universe hadn't limited his dick options to a default girth and length, he certainly wasn't going to self-impose limited options either. Rather than choosing, he grabbed both his most frequently-worn one, which Tim loved, and another which was smaller, though not so much smaller that Marius would think Jonny was calling him a coward for offering it. It was bright red, which was a bit ostentatious even for him, but it matched the color of Marius's arm so well that he couldn't pass it over.

"Oooh!" Marius said, when presented with this second one. He'd taken Jonny's suggestion to make himself useful with enthusiasm: he was already on Jonny's bed, completely naked, mechanized hand lightly encircling his very interested cock, the other working on fingering himself open. "That looks fun."

Apparently sex with Marius was going to consist largely of Jonny trying not to laugh. He grinned and busied himself getting into his harness, then climbed onto the bed, angling his strap between his thighs to warm it. While the silicone slowly heated to the temperature of his skin, he watched Marius pull his fingers out, coat them with more lube, and go back in, three this time. Marius caught Jonny's eye and let his legs fall a bit more open, giving a soft moan that Jonny strongly suspected was theatrics. Not that it wasn't working for him; Jonny was still buzzing from his first orgasm, and he felt overheated and restlessly hungry in the best possible way.

Once Jonny judged his strap sufficiently warmed, he scooted closer. "Need any help?"

"Mm." Marius shifted experimentally and gave a pleased little sigh. "Nope. Good to go, Captain!"

Jonny dove forward and kissed Marius, who made a noise of surprise but kissed him back readily, metal fingers coming up to card through Jonny's hair. "I," Jonny said, with another kiss for emphasis, "am going to make you come so hard you can't see straight."

"Great!" Marius said. "Ideal. Mutual aim."

Jonny made a vague noise of affirmation, lining himself up to push into Marius. He got the angle slightly wrong, or possibly Marius had overslicked himself, because the strap slipped. Jonny muttered a curse, but Marius only giggled and repositioned himself, hooking his ankles over Jonny's lower back, and when Jonny thrust into him, he arched back, still laughing delightedly. The way he'd sidestepped the potential awkwardness had an elegance that bordered on art, and the sheer pleasure he was taking in his pleasure was making Jonny grin so hard his face hurt a bit. 

With some experimentation, Jonny figured out that hitching Marius's legs up at his shoulders and fucking him deep and measured drove him absolutely mad. He writhed and gasped and panted "Yes, Jonny, _yes_ \--" Jonny, feeling lazily aroused and thoroughly enjoying himself, noticed that Marius was clutching at the sheets, his cock looking painfully hard even though Marius hadn't touched it in some time.

"Marius, darling," Jonny drawled, "want to see if you can come untouched?"

Marius nodded frantically. Jonny pressed an absent kiss to his knee, gently bit his calf to watch Marius jump, kept moving. It took less time than he'd expected for a hectic flush to climb Marius's chest and for his encouraging gasps to shift into needy little cries. His mechanized hand ripped through the sheets -- Jonny was absolutely going to give him shit for that later -- but he didn't try to touch himself, just whimpered, "Please, please," which Jonny ignored. 

Marius's words dissolved into a wail as he came in messy stripes all up Jonny's chest. Jonny gave a triumphant cackle and pulled carefully out of Marius while he was still catching his breath. The sheets were halfway to ruined anyway, so Jonny wiped himself off on them and flopped down next to Marius's prone form, wiggling out of his strap. 

"Can you see straight?" he wanted to know.

"Gimme a moment," Marius mumbled. Jonny grinned to himself.

Marius's breathing steadied. Jonny wondered whether he'd fallen asleep the way Tim was prone to doing, but in short order Marius stirred, curling up close behind Jonny. Before Jonny could eel away, Marius slid several warm metal fingers into Jonny's cunt, thrusting with the unhurried satisfaction of someone who was no longer chasing his own arousal. Jonny relaxed back against him, giving Marius more room to work. 

"I honestly _couldn't_ really see for a minute there," Marius confessed. "So. Your turn."

"Such a gentleman," Jonny said, because he couldn't help running his mouth, but Marius just huffed a soft laugh against his shoulder, still moving his fingers with leisurely precision. Through the mounting pleasure, Jonny reflected blurrily that one of the benefits of having an arm for a mechanism was the way it meant that you couldn't get a hand cramp from fingering someone. Unfair, really. Stupid not to take advantage of it. " _Harder_ , von Raum."

Marius's thrusting went obligingly rougher. It was almost too much; Jonny desperately wanted it to be too much. He dug his nails into his thigh, and that was enough: he came, shaking, feeling wonderful for the moment before he came back to himself and realized that Marius's hand had gone still. 

"Don't stop," he said hoarsely. "Not anywhere near done."

"I love that you want to keep going," Marius said, which was a far cry from _you're a needy, pathetic slut, d'Ville_ , but Jonny would work with what he had. Anyway, Marius was moving again, not going quite as hard as he had been, but Jonny was sensitive enough now that it still felt amazing. He drifted, feeling the slow, inevitable approach of his next orgasm. Marius murmured, "Keep going, Jonny?"

"Yeah," Jonny managed, and then pleasure was crashing through him, and this time Marius didn't stop moving, drawing it on and on until Jonny was squirming and moaning, too wrecked to do anything but take it. Even then, Marius didn't entirely let up; he'd stop until Jonny was done trembling, then brush feather-light fingertips over Jonny's cock, making him convulse and whimper. He floated, feeling incredible, not a single thought in his head.

It was only as Jonny slowly came back to himself that he realized that Marius was still holding him close, free arm cradling Jonny to his chest, soft kisses being pressed to the nape of Jonny's neck. Jonny was much too thoroughly fucked-out to go tense, but he did manage a noise of inarticulate protest. 

"Enough?" Marius asked, nuzzling at his hair. 

"Yeah," Jonny mumbled. He tried to move away and discovered that his body wasn't yet up to taking complex orders. "Fuck, half this bed is wet patch and I can't _move_."

"I am amazing at sex," Marius said, with smug agreeability. He kissed the back of Jonny's neck again, and when Jonny did manage to wriggle away from that, he added, "Ah -- not a snuggler?"

"Emphatically no."

Marius made another agreeable noise and rolled away, giving Jonny room. Then, just as Jonny figured that was the end of it, Marius ventured, "Why not?"

Jonny groaned. "Because I don't? Fuck's sake, if you ruin the afterglow attempting to figure out why I don't want someone else's sweaty body all over me, I _will_ shoot you. And it'll be when you're not expecting it, and when you say to yourself, 'oh how strange, why has Jonny shot me for no obvious reason?' I want you to remember that you felt the need to dig into the mystery of why I don't fucking snuggle."

This shut Marius up for a moment. Then he asked, sounding entirely unruffled, "So who does? We should invite them next time."

Startled out of his irritation, Jonny huffed a laugh. "Tim, if you don't mind him falling asleep on you. Maybe some of the others. No one else has tried that with me." He mustered the strength to roll enough that he could pointedly meet Marius's eye as he said this.

"I'll have to take a thorough survey of the crew, then," Marius said, "if you'd like to join me."

"Sure," Jonny said, and yawned hugely. "But first, give me ten minutes to get it up again."

**tales to be told**

Ashes flatly refused to give the crew any information on Ulysses beyond their initial description. "Ashes," Jonny protested, "how am I supposed to tell an audience about them if you won't tell _me_?" He summarily waved away their assertion that this didn't matter, given that no one else who featured in their songs actually got described: "Yes, but I never met them, and if I don't have any idea what they were like, how do you expect me to perform them properly?"

"You'll do just fine," Ashes said, an odd little smile playing about their mouth. Jonny scrutinized them. Ashes didn't usually carry a story close to their chest like a good hand of cards. They also didn't usually sound this much like they were giving him a proper compliment, and he had no idea how to fit their tone and expression in with the little they'd told him about Ulysses.

"Anything else?" Jonny asked. " _Anything_?"

But Ashes said only, "Ulysses deserves to rest, and we've got an album to write."

They'd looked so happy when the Acheron burned.

*

"Your story has everything," Jonny said. "Tragedy, death, a really terrible priest--"

"No," Brian interrupted gently. "I'm not going to sing about that."

That was the end of it, Jonny fucking knew that, but his traitor mouth still wanted to tell that story, so he found himself saying, "I know not all of us have got ours down yet, but we've got mine, and Ashes', and Tim's--"

"Ah yes," Brian said. "Tim's."

Right, Jonny knew when to stop arguing. "Not any of it, though?" he asked plaintively.

"What about the bit where you froze to death in space?" Raphaella asked, in the dreamy way she got when she was interested but not yet invested in a hypothetical. "We needn't go into detail about why you were there, but I could describe the physical process. That would be fun."

"Would that still be tragic enough for you, Jonny?" Brian asked, dry.

"It's your story," Jonny said, halfway between discomfort and irritation. "It can be whatever the fuck you want it to be."

*

When Marius, Ivy, and Raphaella arrived back aboard the Aurora, Marius looked very smug for someone who'd just barely outrun the collapse of a system that no longer obeyed the laws of physics. "Cutting it a bit close there, weren't you," Ashes said.

"We had to do a last scan on the way out," Marius said, his eyes sparkling. "Picked up a _lot_ of distress signals, there's a lot of 'oh god, look at the sky!' in those, and it's good, but it's not the crown jewel of my collection!" He brandished an info drive, which looked completely undistinguishable from any other drive. 

"It's a recording of a traffic cop's investigation of what happened aboard the Ratatosk Express," Ivy explained in mild exasperation when Marius didn't elaborate. "As far as we can tell, it's surprisingly accurate, especially once I fixed the train's black box for them."

"The Inspector got out before everything went sideways, we think," Marius said, looking pleased with this dramatic turn, "but we got a really good scrape of their report, and it's -- you won't believe it, they're so _theatrical_ about it. Jonny, seriously, take a listen, it could use some edits for pacing but it's a whole ready-made frame story."

"You want me to play a traffic cop," Jonny said.

"Yes!" Marius said, grinning.

"Fine, let's see how good it is." Jonny took the proffered drive and added, "And I _might_ play your fucking traffic cop, but only if I can also play all the outer gods of madness."

"Yeah, fair enough," Marius said.

*

"Was it fucking hilarious, though," Tim said flatly. He stared across the room at Jonny with an expression that looked promisingly like hatred. He was holding his guitar, but it would be easy enough for him to draw his gun. Jonny had wondered how that line was going to fly, and he wasn't disappointed.

"Yeah, it was," Jonny said. "What do you want me to say, that it was _sad_?"

Tim's hands shook. "It wasn't funny," he spat. "It was horrible. The whole war was horrible, and pointless, and--"

"And you loved it," Jonny said. Tim jolted like Jonny had slapped him. Jonny held Tim's beautiful mechanical eyes and said, low and precise, "Nothing has ever been as perfect as that violence was. It was horrible and pointless. It was even hilarious, sometimes. Do you want to keep fucking circling it forever, or do you want to turn it into a song?"

Tim swallowed. "Song," he said hoarsely. "But I need a, a fucking break in the middle or something, I _can't_ go right from the trench round to you talking about Bertie like that." 

"I could help with that!" the Toy Soldier said.

Both Jonny and Tim startled. It had been in the room the whole time, of course, providing backup vocals and mandolin, but it had apparently been content to stand perfectly still and silent, observing Tim and Jonny while they got into it. 

"I have a bit of a song about my experiences in the Moon War!" it went on. "Would it be helpful for me to perform between Gunpowder Tim's songs?"

Tim's shoulders relaxed slightly. "That could help, yeah."

They worked out Jonny's intro for it, transposing some of the later explanation of the Toy Soldier's relationship with direct orders. They ran through the full set, the Toy Soldier marching in place with an extra, satisfied spring in its step, Tim not any tenser than he ever was. 

Jonny kept the line about Bertie's death being hilarious. Tim didn't say anything more about it.

*

The best part of a project was when it stopped being a series of anecdotes about events the crew had seen or experienced, and became a story. Suddenly moments were narrative beats, strung together with theme and the illusion of meaning. The best part was taking a step back from a tragedy and watching it transform into a grand tale of love in defiance of all odds; it never saved any of the players, but it did make everything briefly beautiful. 

That, Jonny felt, was enough.

**long haul games**

"Vernix caseosa," Brian said.

Jonny slouched further, his boots sliding up a console. Neither the Aurora or Brian chided him for it. The nebula slowly going by outside continued to be beautiful. "Don't fuck with me, Drumbot," he said. "The game is medical terms. Vernix caseosa is a rare hothouse flower from Majriti."

"It is _not_ ," Brian said, laughing. "Your delivery is incredible, though. I almost believe you."

"Yes, yes, we all know I'm impressive." Jonny snapped his fingers in Brian's direction. "Next quiz item for Dr. d'Ville."

"Oh, I didn't know you'd become a doctor, old chap!"

Jonny groaned, knocking his head against the seat's headrest. He'd just got properly settled in for a good few hours of saying outrageous bullshit to Brian, and while the Toy Soldier would certainly be happy to play along, it wasn't always good at discerning the line between reality and pretense. "Brian," he said despairingly.

"Hello, Toy Soldier," Brian said, making room for it. The Toy Soldier came into the room at a precision float and took a cheerful seat next to Brian, who explained, "Jonny's bored, so we're playing a game where I list medical conditions or terms, and Jonny tells me what he thinks they should mean. He doesn't have a medical degree now; he's only making things up."

"No extra points for knowing the real answer," Jonny added.

"Oh, I see!" the Toy Soldier said. "May I play?"

"Fine," Jonny grumbled. "Brian?"

"Foramen magnum," Brian said, after a moment of consideration.

"Longest bone of the leg," Jonny told him quickly, before the Toy Soldier could say anything. He had no idea whether it had any medical knowledge of its own, but he wanted to give it some parameters for the rhythm of the game. "At least give me a challenge."

Brian smiled, not quite directing it at Jonny. "Cerebral edema?"

"Ew," Jonny said. "Right, that's when your brain just spontaneously explodes."

"Do brains _do_ that?" the Toy Soldier asked eagerly. Brian said, "No," at exactly the same moment Jonny said, "Yes." The Toy Soldier looked between the two of them, consideringly, and then gave a brisk nod.

"I'm the doctor, and the answer is _no_ ," Brian clarified. "Toy Soldier, do you want to try the next one? Let's say ... fistula."

Jonny snickered into his hand. Of course Brian had given that one to the Toy Soldier, who was less likely to be completely crass about it. The Toy Soldier pondered this for a long moment, then said, "Well, I suppose it could be a term for when your wood splinters and you must take some hours to sand it down so it doesn't hurt anyone with flesh!"

"Extremely specific," Brian said approvingly. "Right, Jonny. Myocardial infarction."

"Heart attack," Jonny said.

"No extra points for knowing the real answer," Brian reminded him. When Jonny turned to stare at him, he laughed. "Seriously? You actually stumbled on the right answer?"

"I am extremely wise in medical matters of the heart," Jonny replied archly. "Also, I dunno, it has 'cardial' in it; it's all free association, Drumbot, I'm bound to get one or two right by accident."

"Does this mean I win?" the Toy Soldier asked. "Because mine was least real?"

"Why not," Jonny said. "Round two, double down on the absurdism. Brian!"

"Splenomegaly," Brian offered.

"Jellyfish attack," Jonny suggested, at the same time that the Toy Soldier exclaimed, "Death by glitter!" Brian stared at them both, then burst out laughing, sounding delighted.

Jonny reached over to clap the Toy Soldier on the shoulder. "You are invited every time we play this game," he told it, and grinned at its pleased little bounce under his hand.

**out**

Jonny stared for a long time at the airlock. Droplets of mercury wobbled in orbit around his hand. He should have said something else. He'd just asked a series of fucking stupid questions and none of them had been the right one, and then he hadn't even _tried_ to stop her--

No. Jonny had shot Nastya on _purpose_ , because--

No, he hadn't. No.

*

Ashes came to his quarters. "You've been sulking for a week."

"Fuck off," Jonny suggested.

"Brought you something," Ashes said. They waggled a cigar at him. Jonny recognized it as the obscenely expensive brand Ashes had taken to smoking during their time on Labyrinth. Jonny wasn't discerning about his smokes, but those cigars were good.

"I don't need your pity cigar," Jonny told them, holding out a hand for it.

Ashes snorted and came into the room. Sitting next to Jonny, they solicitously lit the cigar for him, then sat next to him in silence while he smoked. Jonny found himself relaxing, from their presence as much as anything. The room slowly hazed. Ashes hummed something to themself, not a tune Jonny recognized. When half the cigar was gone, Jonny passed it back to them.

"Thanks," Ashes said. They blew a contemplative smoke ring. "This was my last one. Can't get more like it. I'll miss them."

Jonny was silent. He knew what Ashes was doing. _I'll miss them too_ was cheap and pat and didn't even begin to touch the words Jonny didn't know how to scream. Ashes saw the look he was giving them and quirked an eyebrow at him. 

"Sometimes," Jonny said, "a cigar is just a cigar."

*

Brian came to see him, because Brian was cursed with both general kindness and a total lack of fear where Jonny was concerned. He didn't ask to come in. He simply stood in the doorway, the patient brass statue of a man, and said, "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No," Jonny said.

"We're all sorry Nastya left," Brian went on, as though Jonny hadn't been perfectly fucking clear. "We'll all miss her." He fell silent. Jonny wondered poisonously whether Brian had learned his empty platitudes at shitty prophet school, and was winding up to say so aloud when Brian added, more quietly, "Jonny, even if she felt she had to leave, it doesn't mean she doesn't love you."

Something snapped in Jonny's chest, which didn't make any sense. He could still feel the _tickticktick_ of his heart, as regular as ever. Time went funny. Jonny had no recollection of crossing the room, but he blinked and found himself punching Brian in the face.

His fist connected with a hollow clang. Brian's head bobbed back in the recoil, and pain raced up Jonny's arm from his knuckles. He gripped Brian's shoulder with his free hand and punched him again. This time something splintered, the pain briefly blinding. There was a bright spot of Jonny's blood on Brian's cheek. Jonny wound up for another punch, and when Brian caught his wrist, he thrashed wildly and struck out with his other hand. This hit only caught Brian a glancing blow, Jonny's knuckles bruising but not splitting. Brian grabbed this arm too, and Jonny twisted in his grip, panting. "Fuck you, _fuck_ you, let me _go_."

"Jonny, you're hurting yourself," Brian said, with horrible gentleness.

"Gonna fucking hurt _you_ ," Jonny snarled, aiming a kick at him. He missed. His breath seemed to be doing something funny. Brian was going blurry. He tried to yank his wrists from Brian's grip, even though he knew from experience that it was pointless. The Drumbot simply continued to hold him firm, and Jonny sagged, sobbing. He was faintly baffled with himself. He hardly ever felt this far out of control of his own body. 

(The last time he had, it'd been years -- decades -- probably fucking _centuries_ ago, and Nastya had sat with him -- she'd simply been there, knowing better than to attempt to fix it, just existed quietly near him -- and now she was _gone_ \--)

The fight was going out of Jonny, mostly because his stupid body was refusing to breathe. He didn't resist as Brian carefully lowered him to the floor and sat down next to him, not letting go of Jonny's wrists. Jonny shuddered and tried to tug them away again. Dark spots were dancing in his vision. "Jonny," Brian said, low, "breathe, it's alright, breathe."

"Let go," Jonny rasped airlessly. The fury had gone out of his voice, only panic left, and this time Brian released Jonny's hands. Jonny wanted to hit him again, ideally with the fist that wasn't a pulverized mess, but he seemed incapable of doing much besides sitting in a crumpled heap, hyperventilating. Brian knew better than to touch him again. Instead he counted breaths for Jonny, his voice quiet and steady, until Jonny's breathing evened out and the blackness receded.

"May I see your hands?" Brian asked.

Wordlessly Jonny held them out. The bruised one was entirely whole; the one he'd broken had reset, and he could feel it scabbing over beneath his glove. Brian tugged the glove off and examined that hand, his touch gentle. Not looking up, he said, "I'm sorry. Obviously you don't want to talk about it. What do you need, Jonny?"

Jonny swiped his uninjured hand across his face. It came away smeared black with eyeliner. "Fuck," he said shakily. What did he need? He needed to smash himself against something immovable until he shattered. He needed to get a beheading to stick. He needed to go back in time to his red and dusty homeworld and tell the doc to fuck right off because what she'd done to him hadn't _worked_ : if he was going to feel like this, she should've just left him to run down the stupid pointless mortal way.

"I need a fucking drink," Jonny said. "And I really need you to stop looking at me like I'm--" _Breakable_ , he almost said, but that would've been easier to handle than Brian's actual expression, which Jonny refused to categorize. Jonny sniffled and knocked his fist against Brian's shoulder without much force. "A drink, Drumbot."

"I really don't think that's a good idea," Brian said, but he half-twisted, made a noise of frustration, and added, "My switch, Jonny."

"Fun Brian will get me a drink, is that it?" Jonny rucked up Brian's shirt to get at it. His hands were still shaking, which he ignored.

"That's reductive," Brian protested. "I mean, right now I really don't want you to hurt yourself, but I also want to do whatever you think will make you feel better--" Jonny flipped the switch, wondering whether this would derail him, but Brian didn't miss a beat as he went on "--and now I'm a lot less alarmed about it, which is nice for both of us. Drink?"

Which, Jonny supposed, meant that Brian had approached Jonny with his hideous fucking condolences because he'd felt them morally necessary, no matter how it made Jonny feel, and now Brian figured the greater good was about helping Jonny regain his equilibrium by whatever method. There was a reason they all preferred him the second way. "Yeah," he said.

"Can you stand?"

Jonny took stock. He wasn't really having trouble breathing anymore. His limbs mostly seemed to be within his control. "I think so." 

Brian stood and offered Jonny an arm, which Jonny used to pull himself to his feet. Standing seemed fine. He wondered, with some irritation, why he seemed to bounce back more quickly from being literally dead than he did from feeling like this.

"Whiskey?" Brian asked. At Jonny's assent, he said, "You get cleaned up. I'll be right back." 

He left before Jonny could say anything else, which was fine. Jonny's face was a fucking mess, and he was glad that Brian hadn't asked if Jonny wanted to go with him, where he might've run into the rest of the crew, and force Jonny to admit that he'd rather not. He wondered whether there was a way to superglue Brian onto the one setting. He still wasn't quite done wanting to punch Brian in the face, ideally until both his hand and Brian's face broke. Jonny washed his face and sat on his bunk to await Brian's return, resenting everything in the universe. His brain felt full of static. That was going to get tiresome very quickly, but at least it meant that his mind skidded off Brian's words whenever he involuntarily started to think about them again.

Brian returned with a full bottle. He could have brought Jonny a half-empty one and Jonny would still have received it with minimal irritability, but here he was, apparently taking what Jonny needed seriously. "Terms," he said. "I'm staying here. You can get as blitzed as you like, but no punching, no shooting, and when you're done being a mess, be _done_ , Jonny, and come back out of your room."

"How exactly are you planning to enforce any of this?" Jonny asked, mostly to be a shit.

"If you don't agree, I'll hold you down and make you talk about it," Brian said.

Jonny revised his previous plan to superglue Brian's switch. But he also grumbled, "Fine, then," and took the whiskey when Brian sat down next to him on the bunk and handed it over.

To his credit, Brian seemed content to sit in perfect stillness and almost perfect silence, except for the whirr of his cooling fan, while Jonny drank. It was the standard Aurora whiskey -- Ashes and Marius were the ones who hoarded the fancy stuff that tasted like bogs on fire -- but Jonny wasn't any more discerning about his drinks than his smokes, and it did what he required. By the fourth slug it wasn't burning his throat much; by the eighth, his limbs had gone loose. The static faded into a much better lightheadedness. 

Jonny sighed, slumping back against the wall, and slanted a look at Brian. "Why the fuck," he said, "did you think I'd want to _talk_ about it?"

Brian frowned. "I could answer that," he said, "but I think it might also qualify about talking about it, which, as you've made extremely clear, you don't want to do."

Jonny tried to follow that sentence. He gave up and took another drink. He was very sure that he wasn't drunk enough. He wasn't slurring yet and the room wasn't spinning, which was more or less exactly the same as being sober, and he'd had enough of that. "Seems complicated," he offered.

"Loss usually is," Brian said.

After some consideration, Jonny flipped Brian off. He drank some more, until the whiskey bottle was about half empty and the room was beginning to tilt gently. He felt more relaxed than he had since -- he snagged on the thought for a moment -- since Nastya had left. He was suffused with warmth and nothing seemed particularly unpleasant. "Brian," Jonny said. He had to concentrate a bit to enunciate properly. "She's not _dead_."

The quiet in the wake of this statement went on long enough that Jonny wondered whether he'd forgot to speak out loud. But, "We're in a unique position," Brian said finally. "We've seen so many people, so many whole civilizations, come and go. We've witnessed so many of the wonders and joys and horrors and tragedies of the universe. We know death. But we've all witnessed it together, and we all come back. So no, she's not dead. But it sounds like she's gone, and that's new for all of us."

Jonny nodded, which tipped him a bit sideways. That was all true, and much better than Brian's other attempt to talk about it. "Thought I liked new things," he said. "Fucking hate this one."

Brian gently pushed Jonny upright again and said, low, "Me too."

Oh. Jonny blinked at him. Brian had been on the Aurora nearly as long as Jonny had. Brian and Nastya spent a lot of time being weird ship nerds together, charting courses and messing with the Aurora's wiring. Nastya trusted Brian to interface with the ship in a way she never had with the rest of them. Of course he also hated that she was gone. 

"Why'd she do it?" Jonny heard himself saying. "She wasn't even planning to say goodbye, and I didn't understand any of what she was saying about why she had to go, and you don't -- you don't _do_ that, you don't just fucking _leave_ fucking _quietly_ \-- that's not a tragedy, that's just -- it's not _anything_." He felt abruptly like he might either be sick or start crying again, and hoped violently that it would be the first.

"I don't know," Brian said. He sounded so sad. Of course he'd said that bullshit about how Nastya still loved them. Poor Drumbot had to believe that. All that protective outer shell, and Brian still had a heart that could be broken.

Jonny curled up, feeling dizzy and horrible, and cried. Brian sat with him through that, too, though Jonny entirely lost track of time. He didn't say other lies about how love worked, and he didn't touch Jonny, and he stayed. When Jonny had finished crying, he took the whiskey away, and gave Jonny some water. Jonny was too wrung-out to protest.

Then, because he'd promised, Jonny picked back up and left his room.

*

Raphaella and Brian went through her things, making sure that all the engineer's tools were in useful locations. Brian put her clothes in storage; "just in case," he said. Ashes claimed quartermaster's rights and commandeered the vodka. The Toy Soldier helpfully kept inventory.

"She took that lovely old Cyberian military coat with her!" it observed within Jonny's hearing. "She did love it, so I'm glad she took it, but I also thought it was just perfectly dashing, and I really would have liked to try it on!"

"You would've looked great in that coat," Jonny told it, and smiled back when the Toy Soldier beamed at him. 

**moons in collision**

The Aurora hung in space at the safe distance of two hundred thousand miles. It would take days for the fallout to reach them, and they would be long gone by then. Now, though: the moons came together, one a vibrant blue-green, the other an icy, scratched white, their first touch like a kiss. For a moment, everything held perfectly still. Then the first shivers came, plumes of ice and water shooting up at what must have been supersonic speeds, a rainbow spray out into the black. 

Jonny stood with his face pressed to the plex of a window, watching it unblinking. They all were. People had lived on the blue-green moon in the billions, on the icy white one in the tens of thousands. Those people had done everything they could to prevent their crashing together, to steer the moons apart, alter their courses, something, anything. It had been futile. The moons wanted one another too much for anything to get in their way. Everyone on them had seen their impact coming, as inevitable as tragedy.

It was beautiful. The moons were beginning to break apart now, cracking to their molten cores, two bodies come together with such force that they were beginning to fully intertwine. The sight made Jonny feel like there was a fist under his sternum, tugging him forward, a sensation somewhere between awe and longing. From this distance, the collision was as silent and graceful as a dance, though up close it must feel like one of the most tremendously violent and terrifying events in the universe.

If love looked like anything, it was this.

**the library of alexandria**

Stories, Jonny felt instinctively, weren't meant to be pinned down like butterflies and kept in archives. They were living things, changing and warping from teller to teller, sustained by every new messy and myopic viewpoint fed through them. Ivy's library, full of static words, was not really Jonny's favorite place on the Aurora. But, even inert, the stories were still stories.

Ivy was also the only member of the crew who consistently remembered to purchase new nail polish or the closest local equivalent when they were planetside, so Jonny occasionally deigned to come to her library.

He found Ivy curled up in a nest of pillows among the stacks, skirt flared out around her and bright head bowed over a glowing tablet. Ivy's body language suggested that she was fully immersed in her reading, but it would still be there when Jonny got bored and wandered off, so he dropped down to sit in front of her. "Ivy."

No response, which wasn't surprising.

" _Ivy_ ," Jonny said again, leaning forward until their noses were nearly touching. She blinked, looked up, and took an insultingly long time to refocus her attention on him. Jonny grinned at her. "Hi."

"I'm reading, Jonny," Ivy said.

"No, you're not," Jonny said, in the face of all current evidence. 

She heaved an unnecessarily deep sigh. "What do you want?"

Jonny held up his hands in demonstration. His nails were, in the most technical sense, painted, in that little flecks still clung to some of them, and grown-out half-moons of color were splashed across his thumb nails. "Your finest wares, shopkeep."

"I'm not a nail salon," Ivy said, but a smile was creeping across her face. That was one of the things Jonny liked best about her: no matter how thoroughly she'd been immersed in her own world, and how annoyed she was at being interrupted, she always seemed to genuinely enjoy Jonny's company. Fuck knew why, but Jonny would take it. "Alright, fine," Ivy said, "I'll see what I have around."

"You're my favorite archivist," Jonny told her, settling himself more comfortably on the pillow nest.

"Yes, yes," Ivy said absently, getting to her feet. She went to a nearby antique dresser, old Earth style, and rummaged through its top drawers. "Color preference?"

"Eh, whatever," Jonny said, but upon consideration, added, "Darker shades? Not in the mood for shimmery."

Ivy returned with a handful of nail polish, in black and indigo and burgundy and forest green. Jonny fancied the green -- he'd always been tickled by the idea of vast, damp forests soaked in greenery, which still felt more alien than almost anything else he'd encountered -- so in short order, his hand was balanced on Ivy's knee while she painted his nails with meticulous care. "Would you like to hear what I was reading?" she asked.

Jonny knew that Ivy would recite it rather than retelling it, but even hearing her living voice was better than the same story confined to a tablet. "Sure."

"It's a ballad recomposited from rock fragments dug up on Naron," Ivy said, carefully brushing stripes of green up Jonny's thumb nail. "'In a time we remember through the whispers of our ancestors, Eadwild woke from a dream at the second sun's dawning. She went to her mother and said: Mother, I have dreamt of a maiden who dwells in a cave atop the farthest-away mountain, playing a harp the color of purest palladium, and in my dream, I heard her song. Each note is now a barb in my heart, and I cannot rest until I have climbed the farthest-away mountain and kissed the fingertips of her who made this music.'"

Jonny closed his eyes and listened. Ivy finished the first coat by the time Eadwild had made her journey through the rocky treacherous wilderness; it was dry by the time she reached the base of the mountain. While she painted the second coat, Ivy recited the climb up the mountain's face, and its various inhabitants, which Eadwild had to fight or outwit, each according to its nature. Eadwild's weapon of choice was thrown rocks, which Jonny enjoyed.

"'At the cave's mouth'--" Ivy said, and stopped.

"At the cave's mouth, what?" Jonny asked.

"I don't know," Ivy told him. "At this point, a certain irritating crewmate interrupted me."

"Well, we can't very well leave it without Eadwild kissing the harpist's fingertips," Jonny said, flopping sideways into the pillow nest with his hands held out to keep his fingernails from smudging. "Read me the rest."

"You're very demanding," Ivy said, but she also retrieved her tablet. "'At the cave's mouth, a fine veil of snow fell, obscuring the opening. From deep within, Eadwild heard the harp's song, and each note pierced her heart's core.'"

Jonny smiled, turning his face into the nearest cushion, though he was almost sure Ivy was paying more attention to her tablet than to him. He listened as Ivy read the rest, with the same clear, even cadence her recitation had had. Eadwild entered the cave and fell to her knees at the harpist's feet, weeping tears that shone as brilliantly as the palladium harp. The harpist stilled her song, lifted Eadwild to her feet, and kissed the tears from her cheeks. Eadwild kissed the harpist's fingertips, tasting salt and melancholy and magic. Then Eadwild turned from her heart's desire, and in her completeness, she threw herself from the mountain.

"Oh, I love a happy ending," Jonny said.

"You always say that about very strange things," Ivy said, an observation without either puzzlement or censure. "Will you leave me alone now?"

Jonny cracked an eye open. "Nope. I'm comfortable."

Ivy shrugged. "Would you like me to read you something else, then?"

From anyone else, this would have been suspiciously accommodating. But all Ivy really wanted to do was read in peace, and as long as Jonny didn't do anything more disruptive than lie around and listen, it never made much difference to her. Stories were better when they weren't confined to a tablet, so Jonny made an affirmative noise, and listened quietly as Ivy began reading the next fragmentary ballad from Naron. _In a time we remember through the whispers of our ancestors..._

Some stories in, Jonny fell asleep.

He woke some time later, the library around him powered down to sleep-cycle dimness, because Ivy was screaming. Jonny's hand was on his pistol before he understood where he was and what was happening, and even then, he was more than half-tempted to simply shoot Ivy to shut her up. But Ivy was very obviously asleep, so Jonny did the more expedient thing, and simply leant over to slap her sharply across the face.

She jolted awake, gasping, wild horror on her face. Jonny saw the moment her brain ... came back online, maybe, or switched to awake mode. The agonized horror melted away, and Ivy gave Jonny a surprised smile, her usual expression of greeting. "Oh, did we both fall asleep here?"

"Ye-es," Jonny said. "You do realize you were shrieking like a fucking banshee, right?"

"That makes sense," Ivy said. 

"Does it," Jonny said flatly.

"My brain has perfect recall," Ivy explained, "and during REM sleep, the normal psychological buffers and algorithms don't work the same way. It may be a sorting process, or a glitch Dr. Carmilla overlooked. I've considered it, and it's at least seventy-two percent likely that the disturbances to my sleep are a necessary program component."

This was more than Ivy had told Jonny about herself ... ever, probably. He'd known about all the screaming she'd done when she was newly mechanized, but he hadn't realized it was this fucking ongoing. He was desperately relieved that Ivy wasn't telling him any of this like a confession or a plea for reassurance. "So, you have screaming nightmares, and then you wake up -- what, perfectly fine?"

Ivy cocked her head. "I make emotional connections to events that my waking mind interprets as interesting facts," she said, which didn't actually answer Jonny's question.

"Must be nice," Jonny said.

Ivy shrugged. "It is what it is. It does have the unfortunate side-effect of waking up anyone nearby, which tends to be unpleasant for them."

"And this is why I don't stick around after we fuck," Jonny said.

He had a horrible moment where he thought Ivy was going to either take him very literally or break down his joke into its component parts and render it mortifying. Instead, Ivy considered this, then smiled again. "If you have more than five orgasms, the chances of you remaining in my quarters for longer than ten minutes rise by seventeen-point-three percent. For these occasions, I'll make sure not to fall asleep and disturb you."

"Wow, thanks," Jonny said, with the heaviest sarcasm he could muster.

Ivy regarded him with the unconcerned curiosity of one contemplating a data point. "Do you also leave in order to ensure that you don't disturb anyone when you scream in your sleep?"

Jonny stared at her. No, was the emphatic answer to that. He didn't think about why he stayed or didn't stay anywhere, beyond knowing what he wanted and following the impulse. He didn't know what to do with Ivy's assumption that he had screaming nightmares. Had she run the damn numbers and decided that, given the Mechanisms' collective experiences, most of them were some percentage of likely to have terrible dreams? That was a better option than the idea that Ivy knew something about him in specific. He was quite fucking sure that the nightmares he did or didn't have had nothing to do with why he wanted his own space, which was a normal thing to want, no matter how much his crewmates got weird about it. Jonny opened his mouth to say so.

"Probably, yeah," Jonny said.

**fifty-two cards, no jokers**

Sometimes the best ways to pass the time were the simplest. When other entertainments failed, most of them were up for a game of cards. They crammed themselves into the quarters of whoever had volunteered or been pressganged into offering them that time, with card tables and alcohol of choice and their own decks, each marked to specifications. Ashes usually brought dice; Marius occasionally produced a tarot deck, for what Jonny suspected was the sheer chaos that ensued.

On this particular occasion, the game was Aronian poker. The players were Marius, Ashes, Jonny, Brian, and Raphaella. The Toy Soldier dealt. Tim had been banned from playing anything that depended on the players not seeing one another's cards, so he was perched on a crate, cleaning a rifle and watching everyone with mild amused interest. Ivy, ensconced in a corner among many pillows, provided color commentary.

"Marius," she said, "your extra ace is falling out of your sleeve." At Ashes' derisive snort, Ivy added, "And don't think we can't all see the whole extra deck you have up yours, O'Reilly."

"Up yours, Alexandria," Ashes returned comfortably. "Cheating is a long and proud Mechanisms tradition, and anyone who isn't doesn't even deserve to be at this table."

"Thank you," Marius said. The ace fully fell from his sleeve.

"Fuck you," Tim called from his perch, though this was probably in reaction to Ashes' statement, given that they'd been the one to ban him from poker, rather than being a judgment of Marius's questionable skills.

"I'm not cheating," Brian said mildly. "It's counter to my morality programming."

"Yeah, right," Ashes said. "That sounds like something a liar would say. You're absolutely on Ends Justify Means and pretending you're on the other one."

Brian gave them a beatific smile. "You have a very suspicious mind."

Jonny, whose preferred cheating method was counting cards, said nothing. Brian was definitely cheating. His hands had been too good for too many rounds for pure luck to account for it. Jonny took a quick glance at his own cards and blinked. The diamonds were sliding down the front of the cardstock, which didn't seem to be normal diamond behavior. 

"Hey," Jonny said, interrupting Brian and Ashes' continued bickering, "these cards are defective." When they looked over at him, Jonny showed them the melting diamonds. "See?"

"Jonny, why are you showing us your hand?" Brian asked.

But both Ashes and Marius leant forward, looking at his splayed cards closely. "Yeah, they are," Ashes agreed. "The clubs are all ... crawly. Like spiders." When Jonny looked down, it took him a moment to see it, but sure enough, they were.

Down the table, Raphaella giggled.

It _was_ funny. Jonny started laughing too, which set Marius off. Ashes was still eyeing the cards suspiciously, which was fucking hilarious. By this point, the cards had fully given up keeping their suits, and were running over the table in fascinating patterns.

Distantly, Jonny heard Brian saying, with some judgment, "Raphaella, did you _drug_ them?"

"Cheating is a long and proud Mechanisms tradition," Raphaella said, "and I wanted to test out my new compound. Oh, look, Tim must have swiped some of the whiskey too. Well, that's fine, that's more data."

Brian was retorting with something about consenting subjects and the separation of experiments and recreational time, but Jonny stopped paying any attention, because he had a sudden lapful of Tim, whose eyes were _amazing_. "Hi," Tim said. "Fuck your card games."

Jonny stopped laughing long enough to kiss him. With his eyes closed, he felt fantastically floaty, and he didn't want to do anything ever again but run his hands through Tim's hair. Somewhere to his left, he heard Marius whimper.

"Should I get a hose or also take a drink?" Ivy asked. "Yes, thank you, of course you prefer another data point over the interruption of your experiment. Fine, give it here."

That particular game of Aronian poker was declared a draw. Personally, Jonny felt that they were all winners, except for the unfortunate Drumbot, who couldn't enjoy himself, and who chose to only participate so far as to make sure they all had water on the comedown. 

Raphaella was indefinitely banned from games night.

**half sin, half virtue**

When Jonny first touched Brian's brass hair, it parted around Jonny's fingers the way hair ought, and when he gave it an experimental tug, it straightened and bounced back much the same way hair would. Jonny wondered whether Brian's metal skin would yield the same way. "Huh," he said. "Weird."

Brian laughed. "Yes," he said. "Very."

"Any other," Jonny started, and wanted to bite his tongue. For someone who loathed invasive questions, he very much had been about to ask one. Brian was giving him a look of polite inquiry. "It's nothing," Jonny said. "Was gonna ask what other weird stuff was up with your whole situation, but that's not first date material."

To his surprise, Brian chuckled again. "No, fair enough," he said. "What else do you want to know?"

Jonny shrugged uncomfortably. This conversation didn't feel like a trap of reciprocation, but folk had a way of keeping tally of these things, even if they didn't think they were. He reached for the most innocuous question he could think of. "Could you feel me pulling your hair?"

"Ah." Brian tugged at his own hair, an oddly experimental gesture. "Yes and no. I mean, in an organic body, sensation is produced by electrical impulses being directed from the site of the stimulus to the brain, which means that process can be replicated for my body. But it's replicated imperfectly. No criticism, of course," he added hastily, "this body is a technological marvel, and I doubt I could've done better myself. But -- hmm, suppose that everything you touched or that touched you was through a layer of thin, flexible metal: pressure translates, but not temperature or pain, and it's all at the slightest remove." Brain shot Jonny a sheepish smile. "I'm rambling."

"It's fine," Jonny said, which wasn't entirely accurate. He was acutely aware of the steady clockwork of his heart. He tried to imagine feeling the world as Brian was describing it, a thought that compelled him and made him recoil all at once. "It sounds interesting," Jonny landed on, which was entirely inadequate. 

"I thought it might only be interesting to me," Brian confessed. "Obviously I'm personally invested, but it's also professionally fascinating." He didn't elaborate on what, exactly, that profession might be. He looked back at the Aurora's monitors, and was silent for long enough that Jonny assumed the conversation was finished. He'd just started to sidle towards the door when Brian said, quietly, "It's not only physical feelings."

Jonny froze.

"I don't mean emotions," Brian added, before Jonny could panic. He turned to look at Jonny again. "I mean ... I don't sleep, or eat, or -- well, have any organic bodily functions. But I still feel as though I should feel tired, or I remember what a food tasted or smelled like and I crave it. You've heard of phantom limbs?"

Jonny nodded. All of this sounded desperately, romantically tragic, and he was doing his best to not look too obviously delighted.

"It's like that. I do itch, actually, but of course there's nothing real to scratch. I experience hunger, but none of the ill effects of not eating. I--" Brian swallowed, or at least his metal body did a facsimile of swallowing, though by this point Jonny assumed that the Drumbot didn't have any saliva _to_ swallow; the doc must've simply left him the imitations of normal motion, as though that would make any of what she'd done to him less disorientating. "It's interesting to me," Brian said, "that the memory of desire functions like desire now. I don't have any of the chemicals that should tell me what my cravings are, but I still believe I do."

He was looking at Jonny as though he was hoping Jonny could say anything to make it all -- what, better? Or less weird? Jonny couldn't bring himself to tell Brian that this all sounded strange and terrible, so maybe Brian should just embrace that. Brian, Jonny understood abruptly, wasn't like the rest of them. His outsides had been broken, not his insides. But, damn it all, he was still watching Jonny like he hoped Jonny would say something, so Jonny groped about and came up with, "Well, belief is nine tenths of the law."

This startled another laugh out of Brian. "That sounds about right."

*

"Do you think Brian fucks?" Jonny asked.

From six inches away, Ashes turned their head to give him a look of mild disbelief. "Why, you thinking of inviting him?" They propped themself up on an elbow, probably the better to loom over him. "I'm not enough for you, then?"

Jonny huffed a laugh. "That would be a very stupid thing to say to someone who just railed me as spectacularly as you did." Ashes looked pleased with this answer, so Jonny felt comfortable adding, "Obviously you and Ivy are plenty fun, but a fellow does wonder."

"Uh huh." Ashes flopped back down, grinning. "Well, he's a better option than Tim, anyway. I know you hate breaking in jumpy virgins." Jonny, who had no idea if this was an accurate assessment of Tim's experience, but knew that Tim was a non-starter for a number of reasons starting with his frequent refusal to stay in the same room as Jonny, simply shrugged. "What do you wonder?" Ashes asked. "Like, if he has a load of handy attachments, or if he can even get off, or what?"

"I don't think he can," Jonny said. "Get off, I mean." That sounded right, if he understood Brian's explanations about dulled sensations and memories of desire. "So, no point really, is there."

"I don't know about that," Ashes said. "I mean, yeah, orgasms are fun, but so is a lot of stuff about sex." They reached over and wrapped a hand in Jonny's hair, yanking back until Jonny was arching and whining and scrabbling at the sheets. Ashes loosened their hold, and when he blinked at them, a bit dazed, they said, "See? That was fun. Bet Brian could enjoy that."

Jonny briefly, vividly imagined Brian gripping his hair with an implacable strength that would be even more difficult to fight off than Ashes', and couldn't suppress a twitch of longing. Ashes smirked. "Point," Jonny said. "Right, then."

*

What Jonny wanted was to get laid, and for Brian to also have a good time. He didn't want to have a long logistical discussion about it, but he wasn't entirely sure how to get out of that one, when everything about the possibility of sex with Brian was a question mark. 

"So," Jonny said, staring fixedly at the stars sliding slowly by outside, "that memory of desire, does that include sexual desire?"

Brian was quiet for a long moment. Jonny couldn't tell if it was a thoughtful or startled or offended silence, and he didn't turn to look at Brian, who was sat behind him in a navigator's chair. "Not often," Brian said, and ah, that had been a thoughtful silence. "I did experience sexual desire, but never very urgently, at least to my memory -- which, I will grant you, doesn't include my teenage years, which might have somewhat skewed the data. And I find that the memory of desire is usually triggered by proximity to a reminder, which is why I still often want food. Sex, obviously, not so much." After a pause: "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity," Jonny said. He turned to look at Brian as he said it, because people were more likely to believe lies if you were making eye contact. 

"Jonny," Brian said.

"It might've been a runup to me asking if you were more specifically interested," Jonny allowed, "but it sounds like that's not really your thing, so never mind."

"Jonny," Brian said again. His expression wasn't one Jonny had ever seen him wear before, a kind of dazed surprise, as though Brian wasn't entirely sure of himself. "If I were in proximity to a reminder, I think I could conjure the memory."

The hypotheticals and hedgings were making Jonny go tense. He could stand to be an experiment, but he couldn't stand to be a pity fuck. "Don't do me any favors," he snapped.

"Oh -- no," Brian said, looking startled. "No, I mean, I am interested. I do miss--" He stopped abruptly enough that Jonny suspected he'd caught a very ill-advised word. "Human contact," Brian settled on. "Even the approximate sounds very good."

This was by far the least horny expression of interest Jonny had ever heard, but fuck, he _was_ curious. "Right. When you say you might remember in proximity to a reminder, does that mean you'd want to ... watch us? Or what?"

A smile curved Brian's mouth. "Maybe later," he said, which was the first surprise, and, "But right now I'd like to touch you, Jonny," which was the second. He'd thought they were still in the hypotheticals. Brian's body language was all polite curiosity without longing. That more or less made two of them, but Jonny still came away from the window and toward Brian. Brian tilted his head up to watch Jonny, still smiling, and that felt enough like a challenge that Jonny climbed up onto the navigator's chair, on Brian's lap with his knees bracketing Brian's thighs.

"Enough human contact for you?" Jonny asked.

"Getting there," Brian murmured, and slid his hands up Jonny's back under his vest and shirt. Jonny jumped a bit: Brian's hands felt as odd as his hair had, cool-room-temperature metal that had the same soft yield as skin. They felt like being touched by a statue and by a person at the same time. "You feel nice," Brian said.

"Liar," Jonny said. "If I feel like anything, it's just a bit of pressure."

"I'm still enjoying it," Brian countered. He scraped metal nails lightly up Jonny's back, and looked pleased when Jonny shivered. "But you don't like being called nice, do you."

"Who fucking does," Jonny said. "You can do that again, it didn't even hurt."

Brian's hands stilled for a beat, then ran up Jonny's back, bright lines of pressure in their wake, still not quite hard enough to be painful. Jonny sighed, melting into it. "Jonny," Brian said, "alright if I touch your hair?" When Jonny nodded, he pulled his hands out from Jonny's clothes. One settled on Jonny's thigh with the weight of brass, and the other came up to push into Jonny's hair. Jonny rubbed his head back against Brian's hand on the theory that this would translate as enough pressure to be interesting. Brian made a soft, considering noise; then he gripped both Jonny's thigh and his hair, tightly enough that tears immediately sprang to Jonny's eyes.

" _Fuck_ ," Jonny gasped, reflexively twisting away, which did absolutely nothing but pull his hair harder, and didn't shift his position at all. His body flooded with heat. He gripped at Brian's shoulders (cool under his shirt, hard-and-yielding the way all of Brian's body seemed to be) and tried, more experimentally, to dislodge Brian's grip even a bit. Brian held firm with no apparent effort, watching Jonny intently. Between the scrutiny and the helplessness, Jonny no longer had room in his brain to worry that Brian was only humoring him. "Fuck, Drumbot, that's good."

"Thought it might be," Brian said. "I like it too."

Jonny realized, belatedly and somewhat more fuzzily than he would have a minute ago, that the learning curve on this was going to be rough. Brian's voice wasn't any more breathless than it would have been if he were observing planetary weather. He could hold perfectly still. Even if Brian himself was interested, intellectually or more physically, his body wasn't going to give any of the usual indications of arousal. And, to Jonny's complete lack of surprise, Brian wasn't going to make up for it by being unexpectedly amazing at talking dirty. They were just going to have to _communicate_ about it. Fuck.

"Excellent," Jonny said. "Right, keep this up another minute or two and then touch me."

"Happily," Brian said, and yanked Jonny's hair hard enough that Jonny had to bow backwards to keep him from pulling it out. A thin, shocked whine escaped him, and Brian immediately loosened his grip.

"It's good, it's good," Jonny panted. "It's all fucking good, I'll tell you if it's not."

"Right." Brian's hand tightened again. A couple tears slipped from the corners of Jonny's eyes at the sting. Brian was still holding him at too acute an angle for Jonny to even struggle without tearing his hair out, so Jonny simply held still, trembling and feeling progressively more frantic. Brian leant forward and pressed his lips to Jonny's throat, then bit down gently. His lips were soft, and his teeth scraped as teeth ought, all of it a much cooler temperature than Jonny's mind knew to expect, no breath behind Brian's mouth. It still felt incredible, the strangeness interesting, not off-putting.

"Kiss me," Jonny said breathlessly, because he wanted to know.

Brian obligingly raised his head from Jonny's neck, guiding Jonny forward with the hand in his hair. He brought his mouth to Jonny's, softly aligning their lips. Jonny bit down curiously, and felt amused surprise when the flesh yielded at the same time that his teeth hitting metal made a faint _clink_. Brian made a soft noise, the first sound of genuine _interest_ he'd given since Jonny had climbed into his lap, and it went through Jonny like fire. 

He licked into Brian's mouth -- it tasted metallic, a bit coppery, brass was copper and something or other, that made sense -- and when Brian kissed him back it was possibly the weirdest thing Jonny had ever felt. His mouth wasn't the right temperature, wasn't a normal taste, wasn't _wet_ , but his tongue had the pressure and yield of a tongue, and after a first, careful moment, Brian was kissing him with the fervency of someone who hadn't been kissed in too long. He held Jonny in place, spilling more soft pleased noises into Jonny's mouth, and Jonny shook with delight.

"Still good?" Brian asked, drawing back. His mouth looked wet now, shinier than it had been, and Jonny shivered. He wanted to see Brian's fingers like that too.

"Yeah," he said. "Very." There was no need to ask Brian the same: the sounds he'd been making would have been enough encouragement, but there was also the way Brian was holding himself, still unmoving but with his body now more comfortably contoured to Jonny's. "Touch me," Jonny told him.

Brian's hand slid up Jonny's thigh, then hesitated at his waistband. "You're comfortable?" Brian asked. Likely he was only checking that Jonny's position in his lap was fine. What a thing for someone to ask before they got their hand in Jonny's pants. Was he _comfortable_. Jonny looked into Brian's face, at his look of attentive interest, and knew that he really meant it.

"Yes," Jonny said, "I'm fucking comfortable, get _on_ with it."

Brian smiled and undid Jonny's trousers, sliding a hand in. Jonny did his best not to jump at how cool Brian's fingers were against his bare skin, but Brian must have known, because he left his hand resting against Jonny's lower belly, allowing the metal to begin warming to body temperature. "I like this," he said, quietly, addressing his words to the space between their bodies rather than meeting Jonny's eyes. "Kissing doesn't feel the same, but it reminded me. I think -- I'm really going to enjoy watching you."

"Fuck," Jonny breathed. "Your fingers are warm enough, get a move on."

"Right," Brian said, a little frown of concentration furrowing the brass of his forehead, and very gently pushed a finger into Jonny. The angle was lovely, and Jonny ground down on it, not at all worried that he was straining Brian's wrist. "Oh," Brian said, sounding surprised, "that feels -- Jonny, I think I can feel your pulse."

Jonny laughed, and it turned into a gasp when Brian curled his finger deeper. He rocked forward encouragingly, and Brian did it again, watching Jonny's face closely. His mouth was a little open, and though he looked otherwise unaffected, Jonny was beginning to get the hang of this. He relaxed into the rhythm Brian was setting, and moaned, making a bit of a show of it, reaching down to rub at his cock. He grinned when Brian made a soft, strangled noise. "Feels good, Drumbot," Jonny murmured. "I can take more."

Brian obligingly slipped a second finger in beside the first, their hands momentarily brushing, and Jonny, feeling full and overwhelmed, leant back against Brian's other hand where it was resting at the nape of his neck. "You're so tight," Brian said, not like a line but like he was awed and a little nervous. "I can tell it's still good, but I don't want to hurt you."

Even through his pleasure, Jonny was vividly aware that he was going to have to set the record straight; he wouldn't be able to stand it if Brian kept touching him this carefully and checking in every moment. "Brian," Jonny said, meeting his eyes seriously, "I _really like_ being hurt."

Brian blinked. Brian nodded. Brian very deliberately clamped his hand down heavily on the back of Jonny's neck, and twisted a third finger into Jonny, and thrust. Jonny howled, clutching at Brian's shoulders, his arousal abruptly tipping from enjoyment to frantic hunger. He couldn't move, could only take the deep, precise thrusting of Brian's fingers, much too much, a stinging stretch that was rapidly settling into wonderful blazing heat. He had the dizzy suspicion that Brian wasn't even going hard, really, that Brian could wreck him without effort but was still choosing to be careful. 

"Fuck, _Jonny_ ," Brian said, his voice thick with want, and that was it, Jonny was shuddering through a spectacularly long and violent orgasm. 

He collapsed against Brian, whining as the Drumbot carefully withdrew his fingers. He would get up as soon as he thought his legs would hold him, but in the meantime, Brian was going to have to deal with a limp lapful of Jonny. "Wow," Jonny said hoarsely.

"Yes," Brian agreed. "I ... Thank you. I really enjoyed that."

"Don't suppose I can do the same for you."

"No," Brian said gently. "But that's not what I need. This was enough."

That seemed wildly unlikely. Jonny had never experienced _enough_ in his life. But he didn't think Brian was selflessly lying, either, so he nodded and didn't pursue it further. Brian didn't say anything more. 

In a moment, he'd get up. But Brian's hand was still cupping the back of his neck, gentle again, a weight not attempting to hold Jonny in place, and for a little while, Jonny stayed.

*

It was not, technically, Jonny's fault that Brian got stuck in a sun for a century. Alright, yes, as captain it was Jonny's responsibility to more or less know where the crew was, and to come fetch them if they ended up in prison, or creatively incapacitated for an extended period of time, or stuck inside a sun. But Brian had been more interested in the odd little space station orbiting Avalon than the rest of them were, and Jonny hadn't been the only one to lose track of time. They'd all been surprised when they'd swung back through the system and found no trace of Brian or the station. And they'd managed to figure out that Brian had ended up in the sun, and they'd got him back out in one narratively-satisfying piece, so no harm, no foul.

Jonny still had the sense that Brian was annoyed with him. Not seriously annoyed, but ever since they'd fetched him from the sun, Brian had a tendency to answer any of Jonny's orders with a variant on "If you didn't want to do that yourself, you shouldn't have left me in the sun for a century."

"I was busy," Jonny said. He knew that an apology would make Brian stop bringing it up, but this was funnier.

He did think, sometimes, about how Brian had been glowing-hot and dripping off himself when they'd first pulled him out. A mechanism was a mechanism, and he'd been in one piece, but at first he'd had some trouble speaking, and when Brian finally did speak, all he said was, "Took you lot long enough. Someone stay with me and make sure I don't burn a hole through the deck."

Jonny had just enough sense of responsibility as captain to sigh and say, "Right, I'll stick around."

They sat together in silence. Jonny watched as Brian slowly faded from eye-searing yellow-white, and was charmed to see that rather than cooling to his usual brass, he was going an interesting darkly spotty rainbow. Brian looked down at himself and made a noise of resigned dissatisfaction. "Well, the annealing is better than the tarnish."

"Looks pretty," Jonny offered.

"Thank you," Brian said absently. "Jonny, I need a favor. Am I cool enough to touch?" Jonny reached toward him and he added, "I mean properly cool enough to touch. I need to do some delicate work and I don't want to melt anything."

Jonny touched him. "Warm," he said. "Not melting-warm."

"Good." Brian stood, and nearly fell over. Jonny caught him. "Sorry, still getting used to Aurora's gravity. If you would? I need something in my quarters." So Jonny let Brian lean on him, heavy and unusually warm, and helped him walk the ship. By halfway there, Brian was walking by himself, but he kept his arm around Jonny's shoulders, and Jonny allowed it, pretending that Brian was still likely to lose his footing. 

In his quarters, Brian swept a layer of dust off his desk and rummaged in a drawer. Eventually he produced an interestingly complex-looking data crystal, of a sort that held much more information than more commonly available drives. To Jonny's sudden interest, Brian inserted the data crystal in his wrist. 

"What's that about?" he asked.

Brian looked up, obviously surprised that Jonny was still in the doorway. "Data backup," he said. "I'm centuries out of date at this point." At Jonny's look of confusion, he smiled. "My brain is a computer, Jonny. There's only so much memory storage it has. I do my best to keep as many contextual memories on the mainframe as I can, but we simply experience too much to store it all in one place, hence the data backup." He hesitated, then added, "It's also convenient if I've experienced anything that I don't find to be of lasting value."

"Like?" Jonny asked.

"Well, I am purging some of my recent memory," Brian said. "I'm keeping the basic information that I was inside Avalon, but anything more than that seems unnecessary. Obviously being inside a star is an unpleasant experience, and I don't need the firsthand knowledge to understand that. It was loud and painful and boring and it went on a long time, and I don't believe it would be beneficial to remember. There, deleted. That frees up some space."

"Wait!" Jonny said, much too late. "Painful?"

"Painful?" Brian echoed. "What are you talking about?"

"Never mind," Jonny said. "I'll let you get on with that." He was vaguely annoyed that he hadn't spoken up quickly enough. More than that, he was fucking jealous. Brian's brain sounded much more convenient than any other kind he could think of. It was much better than Ivy's -- why couldn't the doc have done the same for her, eh, if she'd figured this out for Brian? -- and much better than Jonny's, too. Jonny knew from experience that brains weren't meant to carry on absorbing new memories for millennia. It must be nice for Brian to be able to curate what he remembered of his existence, rather than relying on the random impulses of meat and electricity, the sort of brain that buried good things if Jonny forgot to revisit them, and which didn't always accept the stories Jonny told it when he was attempting to wrench a bad memory out of true.

No sense getting hung up on it, though, Jonny figured, and went on his way.

The next time he saw Brian, the Drumbot was his usual brass color again, and ready to regale them with the tale of his time aboard Fort Galfridian, seeming none the worse for his centuries away and his witnessing of so much tragedy. That made more sense to Jonny than it might have, before.

Brian could probably have also edited out the fact that Jonny had left him in the sun for a century, but that was alright. Jonny didn't mind him bringing it up now and again, because it really was hilarious.

*

There were times when the days and months and years expanded and contracted at once, like each moment was a card and the hands of the universe were trick-shuffling the deck. Jonny longed for something new, anything to break up the sameness of existence. He wore his thin patience down to the bone and couldn't stand Ashes' archness, Raphaella's absentminded cruelty, Tim's volatility, Ivy's aloofness, the Toy Soldier's relentless cheer, Marius's equally relentless humor. He needed -- fuck, something to feel, and anything he could think of doing to himself, he'd already done a thousand times, washing it out to indifference.

He went to Brian, who was in his quarters, doing some kind of body maintenance that involved a polish rag and a screwdriver. Jonny rapped on the wall to get his attention. The Drumbot looked up and smiled at him. "Hi," Jonny said. "I need you to hurt me."

In the centuries since their first, careful encounter, they'd sorted a number of things out. Brian still took his chief enjoyment from watching Jonny get off, which was fine, but sometimes not enough for Jonny. More often than not, it was Brian who sought Jonny out rather than the reverse: it was easier to believe Brian when he came to Jonny's quarters and said _I want you_ than it was for Jonny to convince himself that Brian wasn't simply humoring him. Jonny didn't go to Brian when he wanted a casual fuck, really. He went to Brian when Brian asked for him, looking at him with an intensity of longing that Jonny loved and wasn't entirely sure what to do with; he went to Brian when he needed something specific, though depending on which mode Brian was on, he approached his understanding of what Jonny needed from different angles. 

On Means Justify Ends, Brian was perfectly happy to hurt him: as he explained it, Jonny was a consenting adult and could make his own choices, besides which, it was literally impossible for Brian to cause him permanent injury. So far, so good; but that version of Brian always wanted Jonny to clearly negotiate the parameters of what he needed, and Jonny got that, he did, but it only worked so far as Jonny knew what he needed ahead of time. On Ends Justify Means, Brian didn't ask Jonny to articulate anything, and he would give Jonny what he needed -- but that wasn't always what he wanted, as they'd learned through some trial and error. Still, it worked well. Brian was willing to be on whichever mode Jonny preferred, which was honestly more control than Jonny had ever expected to have over anyone in bed.

On this particular day, with Jonny nearly ready to climb out of his own skin, Brian looked him over and asked, "Ends Justify Means, Jonny?"

" _Yes_ ," Jonny said. He couldn't contemplate attempting to articulate what he needed in any way that would be specific enough for Brian on his other mode. 

Brian nodded, setting his rag and screwdriver aside. He touched the mattress next to him in invitation. Brian didn't need to sleep, but all the crew quarters had bunks, and Brian hosted the others often enough for the mattress to have some uses, having Jonny on it not least. Jonny crossed the room and dropped down next to Brian, hunching over his knees and staring at the floor. "That bad, huh," Brian said.

Jonny shrugged. "I'm bored. The sort of bored where I'd like to rip my fucking mechanism out. I once tried to use the gravity from a singularity, did you know that?"

Brian didn't answer. Jonny could feel Brian looking at him. He kept staring at the floor. Then Brian was on him, throwing Jonny sideways and pinning him down on the mattress, both Jonny's wrists pinned with one hand. That was more like it. Jonny thrashed, feeling the bones of his wrists grind painfully together, before Brian wrenched Jonny's legs open, sliding a thigh between them and hovering over Jonny without effort. Heat and relief rushed through him: very few things got him going as fast as Brian's ability to keep him thoroughly pinned like this, and even in his current mood, his body was responding. Jonny gratefully ground up against Brian's thigh. 

"Look at you," Brian said, with perfect calm. "So eager already, and we've hardly got started. Pathetic."

So that was how it was going to be. Jonny shook. "Fuck you."

"As articulate as ever," Brian observed. "Go on, then, get yourself off like that if you're so desperate."

Jonny hissed and struggled to no avail. His wrists ached dully; he had no leverage to do anything but keep rubbing up against Brian's thigh. It felt good, but infuriatingly inadequate. Jonny growled with frustration. Brian had been holding himself aloof, but his full attention immediately snapped to Jonny, who had the sudden, horrible premonition that Brian was going to ask him what he needed. Instead, the Drumbot took his free hand and wrapped it around Jonny's throat, precisely tight enough to restrict his airflow without cutting it off entirely. Jonny went still, quivering. 

Brian smiled, slow and satisfied. "Are you going to behave?"

Never in his life. Jonny began struggling again, though between his pinned wrists and Brian's hand on his throat, his movements were even more restricted. His vision was beginning to narrow, going darkly glittery at the edges, the precise clockwork of his pulse slowly ticking upwards. The pressure of Brian's thigh went abruptly from maddening to perfect, and Jonny gave a thin whimper, chasing the friction. Brian's hand went slowly tighter, and Jonny, gloriously lightheaded, ground up against him, so _close_ \--

Abruptly both Brian's thigh and Brian's hand around his throat were gone. Jonny gave an inarticulate scream which dissolved briefly into coughing. Once he'd caught his breath, he rasped, "Brian, fuck, come on--"

"That's not even proper begging, Jonny," Brian said, sounding distantly amused. "That's just you running your mouth. I'm not impressed."

"You're gonna have to try a lot harder to make me beg," Jonny snapped.

Brian laughed softly. "Just getting started," he said, and abruptly jerked Jonny's arms upwards; before Jonny had figured out what he was doing, one of his wrists was securely cuffed to the edge of the mattress. Jonny felt a spike of sharp excitement, verging on panic. Brian holding him down was one thing; being tied up was another, and something he almost never asked for. He flailed out with his other hand, but Brian caught it easily, made a soft noise of exasperation, and cleanly snapped his wrist. 

Jonny screamed, vision whiting out. Broken bones had a precise and splintering sort of pain, jagged at the edges in a way that made Jonny's brain go fuzzy, which Brian fucking knew. It took Jonny a moment to fully come back to himself; by the time he did, he was completely tied up, breathing shakily as his wrist reset. He was naked from the waist down, though Brian had only opened his vest and shirt. He was sitting comfortably on the bed next to Jonny, watching him with a faint smile.

"Welcome back," he said. 

For a wild moment, Jonny was tempted to tell Brian to untie him, just to see what would happen. Means Justify Ends Brian would obey immediately and without question. He wanted Brian to smile at him and say _no_ , but even the version of Brian who gave him what he needed unasked wasn't a mind reader. Jonny took a trembling breath and said, "This isn't going to make me beg either, Drumbot."

"Oh, I know," Brian said. He swiped a perfunctory finger over Jonny's cunt -- Jonny flinched at the chill -- and leant forward, pushing his finger into Jonny's mouth. Jonny swallowed around it, tasting copper and his own arousal. "But you're closer than you'll admit," Brian went on. "By the time I'm done with you, you won't even know what you're begging for." Jonny squeezed his eyes shut, shivering. He knew that Brian could make good on that. "The pain is the most exciting part, isn't it?" Brian murmured, curling his finger over Jonny's tongue. "Answer me."

Jonny nodded frantically, half-choking when Brian added a second finger and pushed them deeper. The whole world tasted metallic. He relaxed into it, letting Brian fuck his mouth, idly wishing that Brian would choke him again. 

Instead, Brian gave a satisfied hum and removed his fingers from Jonny's mouth, trailing them, warm and wet, down Jonny's torso to his cunt. He pressed both fingers in and began moving them without waiting for Jonny to adjust. Jonny spread his legs as best he could, gasping up at the ceiling. Brian was fingering him in exactly the way Jonny liked best, rough and deep and relentless, and between that and the helplessness of being tied down, Jonny felt wound rapidly tighter--

Brian pulled his fingers out entirely, leaving Jonny just on the precipice, twitching and indignant. " _Brian_ ," Jonny snarled. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being toyed with -- he delighted in being worked past endurance, made to come so many times he couldn't move, convinced he couldn't take anymore, all of which Brian _knew_ \-- but edging was infuriating. "That's not going to make me beg, that's just going to make me fucking angry!"

"I like it, though," Brian said, in such a reasonable tone that Jonny realized he was being deliberately provocative. "You look so good when you're desperate."

"Fuck you," Jonny said, "let me come."

"Well, that's closer to begging," Brian said, a smile in his voice, and deigned to touch Jonny again, the lightest brush of fingertips over Jonny's cock. Jonny gasped, hips rising to meet him, attempting to get any friction at all. Brian set his other hand on Jonny's hip to hold him still. The light touch on Jonny's dick vanished. Brian briefly dipped his fingers back inside Jonny, not even moving, not allowing Jonny to work himself down onto them, and laughed softly when Jonny whined. "Cry mercy, Jonny."

"Work for it," Jonny snapped.

"Alright." Brian removed his fingers -- Jonny choked on a frustrated sob -- and got up from the bed. Jonny was still much too tightly wound to pay much attention to what he was doing, but he could hear Brian rummaging about the room. Jonny began twisting his wrists, trying the cuffs, but Brian returned before he could make much progress, and Jonny stilled at once: Brian was holding a scalpel. "If I recall," Brian said, "you asked me to hurt you. So, I'm going to."

"Fuck," Jonny breathed, staring at the scalpel, the lovely sharp edge of it. "Yes. Do."

"I expect I could make you beg for this, couldn't I," Brian observed, but before Jonny could do more than realize, with a sick swoop to his stomach, that Brian was _right_ , the Drumbot was leaning forward and slicing a deep line into Jonny's hip. For the first instant it didn't feel like anything at all; then it stung; then a deep red pain bloomed in its wake. Jonny moaned through his teeth. Brian smiled to himself and repeated the same cut on Jonny's other hip. The cold-sting-pain repeated. The first cut began to throb with a deep insistent ache. Jonny's breathing was starting to spiral out of control, each breath a soft whimper.

Brian didn't pause. He continued to carve lines into Jonny, more next to the first he'd made, then on down Jonny's thighs. Jonny couldn't move enough to look down and see how deeply Brian was cutting him, but he'd been stabbed enough times to tell that the cuts weren't superficial: Brian was going through muscle, skillfully avoiding any major veins or arteries. Jonny quivered, feeling the blood running hot down his skin, sinking into the lovely red pain of it. 

His body was singing with the adrenaline of danger, trying to warn him that he was being horribly injured, that he couldn't get away, that this hurt worse than living flesh was supposed to bear. He floated through it, and on the other side of his body's fear was a joy so fierce Jonny felt a bit delirious. 

"Still with me, Jonny?" Brian asked gently.

"Yeah," Jonny said dreamily.

It came to him slowly that Brian had set the scalpel aside. When he could remember how full sentences worked, he'd tell Brian to keep going. Brian had wanted Jonny to beg; he could do that. Brian could cut his body to ribbons and he'd thank him. But Brian was skimming a hand gently over the cuts he'd made, tender pain flaring in the wake of his touch, and that was good too.

Then Brian dug his fingers into the first wound in Jonny's hip, metal sinking deep into parted flesh, and Jonny's vision whited out entirely at the slide of cold brass through a place that had once been whole. He came in long, shocked convulsions, and slowly returned to himself still shuddering with ecstasy.

"There, Jonny, that's it," Brian was murmuring, just soothing nonsense, but his hand wasn't in Jonny anymore, which Jonny would protest if he could find words. The weight of the mattress shifted: Brian laying down next to him. He pressed a gentle kiss to Jonny's lips. "You were beautiful like that." Jonny could bear up under any amount of pain, but being called _beautiful_ was much too much. He made a vague noise of protest. Brian gave a soft, wondering laugh and kissed his way down to the hollow of Jonny's throat. "You're so good for me." 

That was a fucking lie. Jonny became aware that he was crying, tears running down his cheeks hot as blood. If Brian noticed, he wasn't bothered by it; he leaned up to kiss Jonny on the forehead and said, with infinite tenderness, "I can break all your fingers, if you like, or I can untie you and hold you for a while."

"Please," Jonny whispered, with no idea which of these options he was asking for. Both sounded equally overwhelming. Brian had wanted him to beg. "Please."

Brian untied him. Jonny didn't quite remember how to move, but he allowed Brian to hold him close, solid and cool, tracing his fingers lightly over the healing scalpel lines. Jonny's tears slowed and stopped. He shivered, drifting and enjoying the ache to his tender skin as Brian touched him. 

When he came back to himself, the world would no longer feel so fucking flat. No one was better at this than Brian. Tim and Ashes could both come close to what Jonny sometimes needed, but Tim was just as out of control of himself as Jonny, and Ashes was only willing to put up with so much of Jonny's shit. Brian, though, had a bottomless well of patience and a depth of cruelty that was really his depth of kindness, weaponized, and it was _perfect_.

"Thanks," Jonny mumbled, pressing his forehead to Brian's chest plate.

Brian hummed a soft acknowledgment and held him in contented silence.

**edible (?) ball bearings**

The crew was gathered in the mess for one of Marius's communal meals -- beans and sausage and space sardines on toast and a thankfully good ale, because it was Tim's turn at favorites and English food was very fucking questionable -- when the Toy Soldier, who had just finished pouring everyone's tea, spoke up. "I have an announcement!" it said. "I have a favorite food!"

Everyone was startled into momentary silence. "Well, go on," Ashes said, when it became apparent that the Toy Soldier was waiting for someone to ask, "what is it?"

"Ball bearings!" the Toy Soldier told them. 

"I don't think those are technically a food," Marius said. "Nice and shiny, though."

"Edible dragées are a common confection in many sectors," Ivy offered, "and the silver ones have a very strong resemblance to ball bearings, so it is a taxonomically valid food choice."

"Want us to find some for you next time we're planetside?" Ashes asked. 

"Oh yes, I would like that very much!" the Toy Soldier replied. Jonny eyed it narrowly. The Toy Soldier was so guileless that it sometimes came back round to being the most alarming member of the crew, and after so many centuries around it, Jonny had something of a nose for when it was about to do something especially Toy Soldier-y. He didn't say anything, though, because whatever was going to happen was likely to be entertaining.

*

Out of all the Mechanisms, the Toy Soldier enjoyed war the most. That made some sense: the explanation was right there in its name. But Jonny knew very well that it was even odds whether a body would like the role it was made for, and suspected that the Toy Soldier's enthusiastic attitude towards battle was a deliberate choice. 

When they were in a warzone, it would sometimes disappear for months at a time, only to turn up again in torn and bloodied uniform that it invariably pronounced "absolutely spiffing, don't you think?" Jonny did. Almost everything looked better when covered in blood.

There was no one Jonny would rather have fighting at his side, though he'd never have said as much aloud. Ashes and Raphaella always got much too caught up in their own schemes and side projects to be particularly fun in a sustained battle zone. Marius and Tim were excellent in the thick of it, but they both went funny in the aftermath in ways Jonny was never entirely sure how to handle. Brian was, as always, a wildcard who might become a pacifist without warning, and half the time he'd opt to simply stay aboard the Aurora with the others who didn't actually enjoy drawn-out violence. But the Toy Soldier fought tirelessly and joyfully, and when Jonny fired into the ranks of their advancing foes, laughing, each shot perfect, he was glad that it was with him, sharing the same action and the same happiness. 

It stayed with him in the mud when he'd been gut-shot: an annoying death, slow and painful and on this occasion made worse by the fact that the bullet had managed to both perforate his intestine and sever his spine, so Jonny couldn't even feel his fucking legs while he slowly died of sepsis and boredom. 

"You got that fellow who hit you, though!" the Toy Soldier reported. "Right between the eyes, and he went down so neatly! Beautifully done, old chap!"

Now there was a thought. Jonny groped in the mud for his gun. "Could save us both a lot of time if I did the same to myself," he said, and briefly got a good hold on his gun's grip before he fumbled it. "Oh, fuck this."

The Toy Soldier picked up the gun. "You look _lovely_ like this," it told him earnestly. "All that spreading red!" It leveled his pistol at him. "See you in a moment, Jonny!" Then it shot him clean between the eyes, and cheerfully handed the gun back over when Jonny flailed to life a little while later. It really was useful, and it never bothered to look worried for Jonny. No one better to have by his side.

*

The Toy Soldier baked a dozen red velvet cupcakes, edible ball bearings shining atop them, and presented them to the crew with a proud flourish. Brian took one politely and then held it, looking nonplussed. The rest of them followed suit while the Toy Soldier beamed at them. The cupcakes looked like cupcakes ought, but Jonny had never known the Toy Soldier to bake before, and he wasn't the only one to take a suspicious sniff before biting into the cupcake he'd taken.

It wasn't amazing, but it was just fine, as cupcakes went. The ball bearings crunched in little explosions of sugar when Jonny licked frosting from the top. The Toy Soldier was practically bouncing with excitement.

" _Ow_ ," Tim yelped. "What the fuck?" He scowled at his cupcake. "Did you ... put _actual_ ball bearings in this?"

"These cupcakes are an interactive food game!" the Toy Soldier said, not sounding so much like it was answering Tim as like it had been waiting for someone to find one of its real ball bearings before it made an announcement. "They are a game of roulette! Most of the toppings are edible silver dragées, but some of them are proper ball bearings!"

"How is that a game?" Marius asked, more curiously than combatively. "Just ... whoever doesn't eat the real ball bearings wins? Also, are we likely to actually _eat_ them, or just break our teeth on them like Tim did?"

"I don't know!" the Toy Soldier said. "I just know that roulette is a game and that I wanted to play a version with ball bearings instead of bullets!"

Technically this made the game something like what Jonny thought of as Cyberian roulette, rather than the more traditional gambling-table variety. He licked the rest of the frosting off the top of his cupcake and deliberately swallowed the last few ball bearings without chewing on them. "I ate mine," he said. "Are you going to bite into them, cowards?"

Marius immediately downed the remainder of his cupcake, because he was an easy mark, but Ashes, frowning thoughtfully, asked, "How exactly are we supposed to know whether we ate the proper ball bearings, then? Is Tim gonna x-ray our intestines in a few hours?"

"Ew," Tim said. "I am not."

"Ball bearings are magnetic," Raphaella put in. "I could use a strong magnet to pull the ball bearings back out, and we could count them. Whoever has eaten the fewest wins. Or whoever has eaten the most wins. I don't know what the rules are." She smiled serenely. If she got to use her magnets, Jonny knew, Raphaella would feel like a winner either way.

The Toy Soldier clapped its hands excitedly. "Oh, let's say whoever eats the most wins! This way none of you will be tempted to _not_ eat them!"

Marius and Jonny, who had both already finished their cupcakes, agreed that this seemed only fair. Ivy rolled her eyes but ate hers. Tim and Ashes both refused, because they were, in fact, cowards. 

They'd probably made the right call, though, Jonny realized a half hour later, when a single ball bearing punched right through his stomach to go sailing out and land, quivering, on the magnet Raphaella was wielding. He wasn't as badly off as Marius, though, who had fully three shoot out of his torso, and who immediately doubled up, bleeding profusely and yelling, "I _win_!" When Raphaella waved her magnet at Ivy, nothing happened, and after a moment of expectant silence, Ivy began laughing at Marius and Jonny, so hard she made herself cry. She set off Ashes, then Brian, then Tim, until nearly the whole crew was incapacitated with mirth.

Jonny, struggling not to laugh no matter how contagious it was, hand pressed tight to his belly until the ball bearing hole closed over, glanced over at the Toy Soldier. It was surveying the room, looking delighted that everyone was having such fun.

When Jonny's wound healed, he stole a second cupcake.

*

The set was finished, and most of the crew had disbanded to see what fun could be had among the nightlife on this particular backwater planet. As usual, the Toy Soldier was making sure all their equipment was stored for transport back to the ship. Jonny was assisting it, because it was his turn in rotation, and because the planet's nightlife was unpromising enough that he hadn't been tempted to eel out of helping. The Toy Soldier was moving a little less briskly than usual, but Jonny, still vibrating with leftover energy from performing, didn't pay that much mind except to pick up a bit of slack in packing instruments.

"Jonny," the Toy Soldier said.

Jonny, struggling with Ivy's tuba, took a moment to register how subdued the Toy Soldier sounded. He frowned over at it. "What is it?"

"I have been thinking about the set," the Toy Soldier said. "I have a question." When Jonny raised his eyebrows at it, it shifted in a way that looked nearly uncomfortable and said, "We sing lots of songs about love, and I am concerned that I'm missing something."

Jonny looked around. None of the patrons of this establishment were paying them any attention now that they were off the stage. "Hold that thought," he told the Toy Soldier, and ambled over to the bar to purchase a cheap bottle of house liquor. Returning to where the Toy Soldier was waiting, he said, "Right, I don't know where this is coming from, but let's get this stuff back to the Aurora, and then we can talk about whatever you like."

"That sounds nice!" the Toy Soldier said.

They made their way through the warm evening streets to the Aurora, waiting on the outskirts of the town. She sat out in an open field, far enough from the dim gaslight of the lit streets that the stars were clearly visible above the ship, a little blurred with humidity. Jonny helped the Toy Soldier get their equipment up into the Aurora's loading dock, then went back out into the field to perch on a nearby log. He uncorked his bottle with a knife and, seeing that the Toy Soldier had followed him down, patted the bit of log next to him in invitation. When it sat, he said, "So what is it you're concerned about?"

After a surprisingly long silence, the Toy Soldier said, "I'm supposed to be singing characters who are in love! I don't _mind_ , I know that most of the crew has sung characters who are in love, but I am worried that I'm doing it wrong!"

Jonny examined its sharp wooden face in the starlight. It was smiling -- it was always smiling -- but it looked nervous. Jonny took a pull from his bottle to give himself some time to think. If nearly anyone else in the crew had turned to Jonny and confessed that they were worried they were playing love wrong, he would already be _gone_ , probably fast enough to leave scorch marks. But this was the Toy Soldier, who never demanded anything but inclusion, and who certainly didn't expect anything from Jonny. Probably it would have asked anyone who'd been breaking set with it, but Jonny found that he didn't mind it had been him.

"You know we're all pretending," he said. "Your voice is beautiful, and you know all the words. You're not doing it wrong."

"I do know that we're pretending," the Toy Soldier agreed, "but the stories are real! The love is real! How am I supposed to sing about love when I--" It stopped talking. Jonny waited, holding his breath, not entirely sure how it had meant to end that sentence. "How am I supposed to sing about love," the Toy Soldier said again, more firmly, "when I don't understand love?"

"Well, that is a conundrum," Jonny agreed, keeping his voice light. "Here's the thing, though: I don't think any of us do."

"That's not true!" the Toy Soldier said. "I think you understand more about love than anyone else I know!"

Jonny considered this, taking another drink. Probably it was confused because he did so much of their connecting narration. "Alright," he said at length. "If you think I'm such an expert, tell me what you don't understand, and I'll see if I can make sense of it for you."

The Toy Soldier was silent again. Jonny kept drinking and waited it out. The house liquor was some kind of apple mead, and now that he'd had a fourth of the bottle, it was only just beginning to go to his head, giving him a pleasant buzz. Jonny looked up at the humidity-smeared stars and waited some more.

"When one character calls another 'my love,'" the Toy Soldier said finally, "what does that actually mean?"

Huh. Right then. "Depends a bit on the character," Jonny said. "But--" He groped for the commonalities between the characters the Toy Soldier sang, searching for the thread that would tie the idea neatly together for it. 

"It means the person or people they love are the most important in the universe to them," Jonny said. "It means that, whether or not they really are, they want to be the sort of person who would cross galaxies and burn down cities to be near the people they love, or to keep them safe, or to ensure their happiness."

"Oh," the Toy Soldier said. "But none of us call each other 'my love'!"

"What?" Jonny said, laughing.

"I thought love had to be something else," the Toy Soldier said. "I thought--" It stopped. "I thought perhaps love meant keeping someone exactly the way you want them to be, forever," it said. "Which I could just about understand for Orpheus, but not for any of the others! So then I thought, it must mean something else, and that I should ask you! I'm glad I did! This will be _much_ easier than I thought! If I'm singing about how I would cross galaxies or burn down cities to be near all of you or make you happy, I won't even be pretending!"

Jonny choked on another laugh. "That's the spirit," he said, a bit hoarsely.

He drank the rest of his bottle of cheap house apple mead, the stars slowly turning above their heads, the Aurora a looming darkness behind them. The Toy Soldier chattered excitedly about upcoming venues and interesting places the crew might visit soon. It continued expecting nothing more from Jonny but his company, and both of them were content.

**once upon a time (at the mch)**

"Once upon a time, just outside a very odd planet in a far-off sector of space, Scout Captain Alice Liddell discovered an old RABIT beacon."

"That's not how the story starts!" one of the children piped up.

Jonny glanced down at the page in front of him. It did, indeed, say _Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do_ , but that wasn't nearly as good as what he'd just said, and less accurate besides. He looked over at the child, a kid of indeterminate age and gender in a shapeless green hospital gown, scowling at Jonny like they were seriously considering ramping up to physical violence.

In fairness, Jonny looked less intimidating than usual. He'd strolled out of the prison that morning, mugged a gentleman of around the correct proportions, and taken the Mag-Lev to Met Central. From there, he'd slipped into the Metropolitan Children's Hospital, nicked a spare set of scrubs, and gone up to the long-term care ward, where he'd hunted down some likely-looking stories to read to the children. He was probably indistinguishable to them from any of the nurses who turned up to provide entertainment between their treatments.

"Don't interrupt," Jonny told the interrupting child. "This book is a silly version of the story I'm going to tell you. The silly version is for babies. Do you want the version for babies, or do you want to know what really happened? There's blood in the real version."

"Real version," one of the other children said, elbowing the interrupting child. The interrupting child continued scowling, but they also looked intrigued and nodded sullenly.

Jonny shut the book. "Scout Captain Alice Liddell discovered an old RABIT beacon," he said again. "Now this was very odd, because the beacon was emitting an old signal, and if it had delivered its signal, it would have self-destructed by now. So, Alice hailed the nearest communications satellite in the hopes that she could figure out what had happened. 'Come in, Comsat Cheshire, please respond,' she said. 'This is Scout Captain Alice Liddell requesting confirmation, over.' And the Comscat said, 'Hello! Fantastic to meet you, Alice! What can I do for you?'"

Some of the children giggled. Marius did the Comscat Cheshire voice better, of course, but Marius wasn't here. None of them were. Jonny had been on this stupid planet twenty years and he was really starting to scrape the bottom of the fucking barrel for entertainment. Reading to the children had been a random whim, something worth doing only because he'd got bored of shooting people who couldn't get back up to punch him, and all the bars in Metropolitan had his wanted posters plastered all over them, and he didn't really feel like robbing a liquor store and drinking alone. He wondered how long it would be before someone noticed him here and sounded the alarm. He wondered whether the proper police force or that enterprising rogue cop would be the first to turn up. Either way, he hoped it would be good entertainment for the kids.

In the meantime, he recited his way through the story, showing the children relevant illustrations from the otherwise-useless book as he went. The caterpillar lounging about smoking hookah made a good stand-in for the first general Alice encountered; the book helpfully provided excellent pictures of Majors Hatter and Hare, though Jonny had to do a certain amount of improvising when he reached them. Their part was just _better_ as a duet. Jonny was going to kill Tim whenever the crew finally came to get him. Jonny was going to throw Brian into another sun. Not for failing to be here to sing to kids, obviously, just on principle for leaving him on this planet for so long.

Even without the full crew, the children were riveted. At length, Jonny reached the end. "All we know for sure is, if you're ever in that sector of space, you can turn your receiver to pick up a very odd message indeed: 'Come in, all friendly military forces, this is Scout Captain Alice Liddel, requesting reinforcements! Lots of reinforcements! There's a lot of fighting down here, so you need to send more soldiers! Send lots more soldiers. I need them.'" Jonny leant forward and whispered this last to the children. "'I need them for the war.'"

Most of them were staring at him, wide-eyed, including the interrupting child. A little boy with bright red hair, near the back, piped up, "I don't get it." When Jonny looked at him, he said, "What's a Rose Red?"

"I'll tell you, if you're up for another story," Jonny said. The children nodded eagerly, so he cleared his throat and began: "Once, in a far-off sector of a very old galaxy, there lived a king. There was a time, long ago, when he might have been called a good king, a wise king, perhaps even merry..."

By the time King Cole and Rose Red and Snow all lay dead upon the ground, several of the children looked desperately sad. Jonny looked this way and that, conspiratorially. The children drew closer. "But soon Cinders stopped weeping, in confusion. She had thought everyone in the room was dead, but she could hear bickering in the hallway outside. To her astonishment, who should appear in the door of the throne room but a motley band of pirates and, among them, Rose. Cinders couldn't believe her eyes. She looked between Rose Red, dead in her arms, and the Briar Rose, alive. The Briar Rose ran to her side. They embraced, and the world was forgotten." 

He paused. The children drew closer yet. "Now, that last part is secret. No one else knows that Cinders and the Briar Rose lived happily ever after, so you must keep it to yourselves. Can you do that?"

The children agreed, in ragged, excited chorus. The confused boy from the back now looked very satisfied and worldly about the whole thing.

"Another?" one of the children asked.

"You're very demanding children," Jonny said. "Alright, if one of you gets me some water, I'll tell you another story."

He was discovered, of course, only a few hours later by an orderly whose rounds allowed them to notice that the whole long-term care ward had crowded into one room with a disreputable-looking stranger. Jonny shooed the children back to their various beds and made his way down to the hospital's main entrance by the time the alarm was truly raised. 

The hospital was surrounded, naturally, and one of the younger officers shot him in a panic. Jonny revived in the back seat of a cop car, coughing blood. Not a bad way to spend a day out of prison, all told.

**twenty kisses of the vibrolash**

"I would," Brian said. "Like to watch."

The cards slipped from Jonny's fingers. Brian was a cheating bastard who wielded arresting non sequiturs like a bludgeon, and the worst of it was, Jonny was fairly sure that Brian wasn't even on cheating bastard mode. "Fuck," Jonny muttered, scrabbling to pick up his cards before anyone could see his hand.

"Okay," Tim said, glancing between Jonny and Brian, "I think I'm missing something here. Watch what?"

"We've been experimenting with my sex drive, such as it is," Brian explained. When Tim looked intrigued rather than offput, which to be fair was the only reasonable response to Drumbot Brian discussing his sex life unprompted, Brian went on, "Like most of my other physical impulses, it's a memory more than any kind of need, so unless I get a tangible reminder of a physical sensation I could potentially want or miss, it doesn't really come up." Jonny, unable to help himself, snickered at that, but Brian ignored him except to say, "Jonny very reasonably asked if that meant I'd like to watch my crewmates having sex. I've thought about it, and I would like it."

"Oh," said Tim. He looked between Jonny and Brian again. "And is this an ongoing conversation that I just happen to be around for, or...?"

It certainly fucking wasn't. Brian could have brought it up when only Jonny was around, or he could have mentioned it near Ivy or Ashes. Jonny's thing with Tim was a relatively new development, which strongly suggested that the possibility of watching had become more interesting to Brian recently, and that this conversation was definitely targeted.

Jonny, beginning to go very warm under the collar, found that he didn't mind this in the least.

"Not necessarily," Brian said. "In fact, I'm attempting to gauge if there's any mutual interest."

Tim caught Jonny's eyes. Jonny couldn't quite read the look on Tim's face, beyond a certain questioning expectation. Jonny grinned at him, a little challenging. After a moment Tim looked away, back at Brian, and said, "Yeah, there is."

Brian turned to Jonny. Jonny laughed. "Come on, Brian, you know I'd perform for anyone."

"God, how are you so bad at this," Tim muttered. " _Yes_ , Brian, Jonny and I would both be interested in letting you watch us sometime."

"Sometime?" Jonny echoed. Tim looked back at him, eyebrows going up, and Jonny flushed pleasantly. "I mean, we could keep playing cards, but I know both of you got an eyeful of mine, and honestly, fucking for Brian's enjoyment sounds more fun, if you're up for it."

Tim licked his lips. "I could be, yeah."

Jonny quickly assessed the space: card table, chairs, Tim's excess weaponry meticulously set in the wall behind Brian, the bunk behind Tim's seat. The fact that they were in Tim's quarters slightly limited their options, but Jonny considered Tim spreading him across the bed and fucking him while Brian watched, and -- yeah, alright, Jonny could feel himself getting wet just thinking about it, that would work fine. 

He got to his feet and sauntered over to Tim. Tim looked up at him, not otherwise moving, so Jonny grasped Tim's lapel and pulled him up out of his chair. Tim rose, and looked more than a little nonplussed when Jonny looped his arms around Tim's neck and leaned in close to murmur in his ear, "Want you to fuck me and make a _show_ of it." He felt Tim's near-imperceptible shudder, and pulled back to grin at him, but barely had time to do so before Tim was grabbing and kissing him, all teeth and more urgency than Jonny had expected. Jonny swallowed a surprised noise and kissed him back, tangling his fingers in Tim's hair. 

He felt electric with the awareness that Brian was watching them. Tim -- hm, Tim was _tense_ , and Jonny remembered that Tim got nervy if he knew he was about to perform. Brian wasn't the same as a faceless audience, but that didn't necessarily make it less of a problem for Tim. Jonny deliberately slowed the kiss, twisted his hands in Tim's hair, pressed himself close; fuck making a show of it, that could happen once he had Tim grounded. Slowly Tim melted against him. 

When Jonny judged him sufficiently present, he got started on Tim's clothes without breaking the kiss. He'd still not found a way to make the act of undressing gracefully provocative, but that wasn't what Brian was watching for anyway. He unbuttoned Tim's layers, sliding his hands under Tim's vest and shirt, briefly pinched one of Tim's nipples and scratched down his ribs. Tim jumped, making the little breathy noises he always began to make when he was properly worked up. He scrabbled at Jonny's clothes, and seemed to remember himself just in time to not tear anything as he divested Jonny of his layers. In short order they'd more or less stripped one another, and broke apart to toe off boots and kick away trousers.

Jonny glanced at Brian, who was still sitting in his seat at the card table, leant a bit forward, a smile on his face. Jonny didn't want to make Tim self-conscious, but he didn't want to ignore Brian, either. "Alright, Drumbot?"

"Yes," Brian said softly. "Very."

Jonny glowed. "Good, then," he said. "Tim?" 

Tim turned back into his arms, down to nothing but his pants, and pulled Jonny into another kiss. Even if Tim got nervy in front of an audience, he had an excellent instinct for performance, and Jonny appreciated that he hadn't fully undressed. He reached his hand down Tim's pants and wrapped his hand loosely around his cock, giving it a first gentle stroke, and enjoyed the way Tim moaned into his mouth, enjoyed even more the soft echo of the same noise a moment later from Brian. Then Tim was reaching for Jonny and curling a finger into his cunt, distracting Jonny thoroughly before he could build up any kind of rhythm. Jonny gasped and bucked up against Tim's hand.

"God, you're a fucking mess already," Tim growled. "You want to show off, Jonny?"

" _Yes_ ," Jonny panted, "obviously. Fuck, Tim, give me more."

Tim's cock twitched in his hand -- he loved it when Jonny got a particular kind of demanding -- and he bit Jonny's lip, hard. "What if I fucked you right now?"

Jonny shuddered. "Brian, how about it?"

"I--" Brian sounded a little dazed. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

Jonny laughed giddily. "Well then," he said. "Tim, if you would."

Tim gave Jonny a feral grin and threw him down on the bed. Jonny rolled, already prepared to fight him when Tim followed, then hesitated: his knowledge of Brian so far suggested that the Drumbot wouldn't necessarily have any sense memories of the sort of combative sex Jonny and Tim usually had. In his moment of hesitation, Tim threw off the rest of his clothes and came down atop Jonny, grabbing his wrists and forcing Jonny's legs apart with a knee. Rather than fight back, Jonny simply went with the movement of it, and surged up to kiss Tim again. He felt Tim go momentarily stiff with surprise, then relax into it. 

After a moment Tim broke the kiss and pulled away enough to toss his hair to one side, giving Brian a view; he really was excellent at performance. "Back or hands and knees?" Tim asked, and as Jonny opened his mouth, Tim grinned and specified, "What's your flavor, Brian?"

"Back," Brian said without hesitation, the romantic asshole.

"Right," Tim said, momentarily catching Jonny's eye. He looked away at once, before it could become any sort of thing, and his hands abandoned Jonny's wrists for his thighs as he lined himself up. Jonny helpfully raised his hips, and helpfully cried out when Tim slid into him. Tim pressed his face to Jonny's shoulder to muffle a laugh, but Brian made another little echo of sound after Jonny's, so fuck Tim for laughing at him anyway. Then he lost the thread of his thought, because Tim was pulling partway out, thrusting in again, and absolutely _nailing_ an angle that made Jonny see stars.

"Fuck," Jonny panted, "Tim, exactly like that." Tim obliged him, and Jonny cried out, clutching at him. Tim was settling into a steady driving rhythm, the sort of movement he could keep up through two or three of Jonny's orgasms before he either tired out or came himself, and the idea of Brian watching Jonny fall apart repeatedly on Tim's cock like that--

He glanced over at Brian, who was sat forward in his chair, absolutely rapt, his hands clutching hard at his knees, looking for all the world like a statue cast by someone who knew exactly how to capture lust. They locked eyes, and the _hunger_ in Brian's gaze--

Jonny came, his vision unfocusing, and he threw an arm over his face, panting and shuddering through it. 

"Fuck," Tim breathed, his rhythm stuttering, clearly as surprised as Jonny at how quickly Jonny had gone off. He laughed unsteadily. "You really are such an exhibitionist." He glanced over at Brian while still fucking Jonny at the same steady pace, ignoring the breathy little noises of overstimulation Jonny was making. "You see that?"

"Yes," Brian said, low and intense enough that it sent a shivering aftershock through Jonny. "Can I -- I want to touch you, either of you, can I?"

Tim's movement slowed, still even but more languorous now, and Jonny gratefully did his best to catch his breath. "Yeah," Tim said, "of course." He quirked a smile. "Audience participation encouraged."

Brian came over to settle on the bed next to them, the mattress dipping under his weight. After a moment, he reached out and touched Tim's face gently. Tim looked briefly startled, but he leaned into the touch, and he also looked -- happy, that was it, pleased that Brian was touching him. "Thank you," Brian was saying, "this is wonderful."

A strange, soft smile flitted across Tim's face. "Yeah," he said. "How do you want to touch us?"

Brian looked down at Jonny -- Jonny threw a lazy, satiated grin up at him -- and said, hesitantly, "Could I ... hold Jonny down while you keep doing what you're doing?"

" _Yes_ ," Jonny gasped, "you brilliant Drumbot, that sounds fucking perfect."

Tim's rhythm broke again, his hips giving an involuntary stutter that spoke to how much he liked the idea too. He took a shaky breath. "Yeah, that would be really good."

Brian took Jonny's wrists in his hands and pressed them to the mattress. Jonny didn't test them: he knew he was immobile. It was ... nice, Brian's steady weight, being held secure like this while Tim continued driving into him, picking up the pace again. _Nice_ wasn't usually in Jonny's sexual vocabulary, but something about being between the two of them, Brian drinking in every detail, Tim wild-haired and beginning to shine with sweat and unfairly fucking beautiful, felt the sort of good that was almost more comfortable than provoking. Jonny was by this point utterly limp, feeling a slow build of pleasure so vast and warm it was making his toes curl. 

"This is so much better than watching anyone eat," Brian said quietly. "I just feel sad for what I can't have when I see food. But this -- you've made me part of this. I feel so _good_."

"Good," Tim said, his voice gone a bit breathless. "Do you -- do you want to know how it feels?"

"Yes, if you like." Brian's hands on Jonny's wrists tightened a very little. Jonny, caught up in sensation and not especially inclined to talk, watched Tim, curious to see where this was going. Tim wasn't quite looking at either of them, but instead at a point to one side of Jonny's shoulder, and his cheeks were flushing in a way they usually didn't, even during sex.

"He's so -- Jonny's so fucking tight," Tim said. Jonny half-voluntarily clenched down on him, shuddering, and Tim moaned. " _Fuck_ , he -- always gets like this when he's close, and I could feel how much he liked it when you grabbed his wrists, took all the fight right out of him, got him so soft and warm and wet, _God_ \--" Tim's tone was spiraling towards frantic, the pace of his thrusts going desperate. "Feels so fucking good, Brian."

"It does," Brian said, low and thick with longing. "You're both incredible."

Tim was shivering on the edge by now. He braced himself and reached between them, fingers rubbing firmly over Jonny's dick, and Jonny came again, laughing and spasming around Tim until Tim swore and shuddered still, pulled into his own orgasm. He stayed braced over Jonny for a moment, arms trembling, then carefully pulled out and let himself down onto the bed at Jonny's side. "Oh fuck," he said quietly, his voice a bit wrecked.

Brian let go of Jonny's wrists. Jonny brought his arms down to stretch them out, and looked up at Brian. The Drumbot had shifted position, and had a hand in Tim's hair, carding gently through it. Tim was smiling a faint, dazed smile, and Jonny was visited with the sudden odd feeling that he was intruding on something. This was obviously ridiculous, but Jonny still had to combat that feeling somehow, so he reached over and tangled his hand in Tim's hair, too. Tim gave him a brief startled look, then yawned hugely, chuckled, and settled down.

"Thank you," Brian said. "Both of you. That was wonderful."

By this point Jonny knew better than to ask whether Brian wanted anything else -- the answer was always no -- but the question still sat insistently on his tongue, and what came out of his mouth was, "So have we resurrected your memories of horniness?"

Brian laughed. "Yes," he said. " _Vividly_."

"Well, we're here all week," Jonny said, feeling smug.

"Speak for yourself," Tim mumbled, already half-asleep.

"Tim's going to take a nap," Jonny amended. "I will happily give encore performances."

"I think I'd like that very much," Brian said, and continued stroking Tim's hair until he was snoring, fingers brushing Jonny's all the while.

*

"I really think you'll want to be tied down for this," Raphaella said, looking skeptically between Jonny and the humming cat o' nine. "Electrocution makes people twitchy."

"I am not going to be tied down," Jonny said.

"It really would be for the best, Jonny," Ashes said. "You're terrible at holding still."

"I can hold still," Jonny snapped, and watched the grin that spread across Ashes' face. Clever bastard, cornering him into behaving himself. He looked back over at Raphaella. "Just give me something to hold onto, and I'll hold still."

"Alright," Raphaella said, unconcerned. "Then let's have you on the floor, there, and you can hold onto the headboard."

"That works." Jonny went to his knees and grasped the headboard before him experimentally. It was sturdy and would probably suit. "Shirt off, then?"

"Wow," Ashes said, leaning back in their chair to lounge more comfortably and looking Jonny over with their eyebrows raised. "Where'd this cooperative mood come from?"

"I just ignore him if he's a brat," Raphaella said, in that distantly cheerful way she had, before Jonny could even open his mouth to answer. "And he's been wanting a beating since I retrofitted the new vibrolash, so of course he's going to be helpful and accommodating."

"Fuck you, Raphaella, I'm right here," Jonny said, wriggling out of his shirt.

"Yes, I can see that," she said. "Ready?"

"More than," Jonny said. "Go right ahead." 

Raphaella hit him with the vibrolash. It smarted in the way all compact surface impacts did, nine hot lines across Jonny's shoulders, and it stung with a hundred bright sparking points of electricity. Jonny jolted, and tightened his hands on the headboard, and kept himself still.

"Good?" Raphaella asked.

"Yeah. Very. Don't you fucking dare check again until I'm screaming."

"Oh, this is gonna be good," Ashes murmured. Jonny ducked his head and grinned.

Raphaella brought the vibrolash down on him again, across Jonny's shoulders in almost exactly the same place as her first strike, and a soft noise of pained surprise escaped Jonny. She swung it again, the vibrolash making a lovely humming crackle of sound ending in a sharp buzz on impact: mid-back, this time. Jonny slumped a little, shaking. The ache in his shoulders was already growing bright enough that it was beginning to push his awareness of everything else aside. 

Again, this strike landing above the last and hitting both the previous impact sites. Jonny's breathing went ragged. Again. The crackling sting of electricity kept anchoring Jonny's attention when he might otherwise have begun to simply sink into the pain. Again. He was losing track; the individual lines of each blow were blurring together into one lovely mounting agony. Again. Another thin noise escaped him. His hands were going numb from how tightly he was gripping the headboard. Again. Here came the wave of adrenaline and fear, the unreasoning animal of his body convinced that this was too dangerous and he had to run. Jonny rode it out. Again. 

He went limp, only his grip on the headboard keeping him upright. Each breath he took was a laughing sob. Raphaella paused, and Ashes said, "Oh, trust me, you really want to keep going. What are we at, nine or ten? He can take at least as much again."

"Right," Raphaella said. She swung the vibrolash again, and after that brief reprieve, it landed like lines of fire and lightning, perfect and unbearable. Jonny screamed, and had the momentary, distant worry that it meant Raphaella would stop. She didn't. She landed another blow, another, another, paring Jonny down to his burning back and trembling muscles and raw throat. There was nothing but pain and the buzzing crackle of the cat o' nine as it hit. It was too much now for even the jolt of electricity to keep Jonny grounded. He drifted.

Someone was gently prizing his hands from the headboard. Jonny blinked the tears out of his eyes and let go, swaying til he was guided gently to turn, his hands placed on someone's hips: Raphaella, naked except for some kind of gauzy wrap, sitting on the bed in front of him. She laced her fingers with his where they rested on her. "You're lovely when you're screaming," she told Jonny. "Want to get your mouth on me?"

Jonny nodded and Raphaella, beaming, obligingly spread her legs for him. Jonny leant in and licked at her clit, then pushed his tongue deeper. He was distantly aware that he wasn't giving her the focused attention she deserved after making him feel so good, but she didn't seem to mind, moaning softly and riding up against Jonny's mouth. Time slipped away; there was nothing but the smell and taste of Raphaella, her breathy noises overhead and her fingers entwined with his, and the near-overwhelming throb of pain on his back, washing thought away before it could form. 

A hand settled firmly on the back of his neck, holding him in place. "There you go, sweetheart," Ashes murmured. "You two look fucking gorgeous."

"Always forget how good he is at this," Raphaella said breathily. "Is it because you really have to be in the moment to remember that sort of thing? Do you think he gets better at it every time? What sorts of factors--"

"Babe," Ashes interrupted, "stop analyzing everything and enjoy yourself."

"Oh," Raphaella said. "Right, yes."

She _was_ enjoying herself. By now the whole lower half of Jonny's face was drenched, and Raphaella was beginning to taste the way she did when she was close. She was still bucking up against him in desperate little twitches, her hands on his going tight. Ashes pushed Jonny forward, and Jonny, deprived of air and still feeling nothing but untethered happiness, curled his tongue and sucked on Raphaella's clit until she came with a soft cry, riding up hard against Jonny's mouth, legs shaking.

Ashes eased Jonny back, still holding onto the nape of his neck like an anchor. Raphaella gave a sigh of pure satisfaction. "Ashes," she said, sounding sleepily contented, "I'd really enjoy dessert and a show."

"Seems fair," Ashes said. "You with us, Jonny?"

Jonny gathered himself enough to nod. He was, in the strictest sense, present, though his back was still singing with pain and he felt very distant from words. Ashes understood: "Lean forward for me, love," they said, "let's get you out of those clothes." Jonny obligingly slumped forward, his forehead resting on the edge of the mattress, Raphaella still holding Jonny's hands to help him stay upright. Ashes unbuttoned Jonny's trousers and pulled them down with a quiet laugh. "Should've undressed him all the way first," they said, apparently addressing this to Raphaella. "He's soaked right through."

"We'll remember that for next time," Raphaella agreed.

Ashes helped Jonny out of his trousers, one leg at a time, careful to steady him without touching his back. Then they pulled him backwards, his fingers slipping from Raphaella's, and settled Jonny on their lap, ignoring the way Jonny gasped and shuddered at the scrape of fabric against his ruined back. He could feel their strap, trapped between his ass and their belly. "I'd like to fuck you, Jonny," Ashes murmured. "Think you can take it for me?"

Jonny nodded again, dreamily. Everything hurt, and he was vaguely aware of how warm and open he felt, how easy it would be for Ashes to do as they liked with him. Ashes nudged him forward, adjusted their strap, and brought Jonny carefully down onto it, slow and deep until Jonny was impaled and shivering. Ashes took hold of Jonny's hips, encouraging him to rise a little, then pulled him back down until they were fully seated in him. Every movement brushed Ashes' waistcoat against Jonny's raw skin, and Ashes' cock was so deep in him that it ached. Jonny was gently drowning. 

Raphaella slipped off the bed. Jonny blinked dazedly at her, and she gave him a delighted smile and drew him into a kiss. Jonny sank into it, soft and deep and the perfect counterpoint to Ashes' slow, deliberate thrusts. She drew back from the kiss, petting Jonny's hair, and gave a surprised little laugh when Jonny nuzzled into her hand. "I didn't know he could get this quiet," she said.

"Yeah," Ashes murmured. "You flog all the fight out of him, he goes all soft and sweet." They must have sensed that Jonny was fuzzily attempting to scrape together some sort of objection to this, because they reached around to touch him, gentle flicks of their finger over his cock that immediately destroyed any chance Jonny might've had at coherence. They nipped at the shell of Jonny's ear and said, low, "You've been gorgeous, Jonny, go ahead and come for us now."

He floated on the edge of it for a moment more, Ashes still touching his dick feather-light and fucking him in deep, slow thrusts. When he came, he did so silently, his legs going weak and the pleasure going on and on, the sort of full-body orgasm that usually felt almost violent; in his current state it rolled gently through him, leaving Jonny slumped in the circle of Ashes' arms, trembling.

They carefully lifted him off their cock, and Raphaella helped him to his unsteady feet to deposit him face-down on the bed. She and Ashes settled on either side of him, neither of them touching him. There was some movement and slick sounds from Ashes' side of the bed, presumably them idly getting themself off. " _Look_ at his back," they said, a little breathlessly.

"It's already healing up, though," Raphaella said. "What do you think will take longer, a complete heal or Jonny remembering how to talk?"

"Mm, even odds."

Jonny, still only tenuously connected to his own body, slowly worked out where his hand was, and moved it enough to flip them off. They both laughed, and Jonny pressed a grin into the bedclothes. 

They stayed like that a while longer, Jonny drifting, Ashes and Raphaella idly chatting overhead, while Jonny's back knitted itself whole and the scattered pieces of himself recoalesced to coherency. Even when Jonny could string his thoughts together again, he kept laying there for a while. The quiet in his head was nice, and neither Raphaella nor Ashes minded his being there.

*

Jonny had, he discovered far too late, been _tricked_.

That was the trouble with Marius: his unwillingness to take anything remotely seriously sometimes felt like harmlessness, and Jonny had forgot to be wary when Marius appeared in his doorway and said, "Crew orgy, Jonny, you in?" Jonny obviously wasn't going to say no; he was much too curious to see who else had agreed to this.

The answer turned out to be Raphaella, Ivy, and Tim, among whom Tim was the only real surprise, if only because he didn't often let himself get roped into group activities. Tim looked equally surprised to see Jonny, even though he really shouldn't have been, given that Jonny would happily try anything once. "Is it really a crew orgy unless your captain's here," Jonny said to him, grinning.

"First mate," Tim snapped, and they got a bit distracted kissing like an argument until Marius pointedly cleared his throat and they both remembered the rest of the room.

Five might have been a slightly tricky number of people to manage, but they all had centuries of creativity to work with, and Marius seemed determined that they should all touch as much as possible. Jonny found himself passed around among them, kissing Marius, Raphaella, Ivy, Tim again, Tim whimpering into Jonny's mouth while Raphaella, settled behind Tim, worked him open. When he was ready, Raphaella tipped Tim forward to lay with his face pressed to Jonny's thigh, Raphaella fucking him and Marius, somewhat precariously and with the joy of a good challenge, behind Raphaella and fucking her in turn. Jonny twisted on hand in Tim's hair, enjoying the soft desperate noises he was making, splitting his attention between watching the three of them and kissing Ivy, who seemed just as interested in watching them as he was. Marius cried out into Raphaella's shoulder and flopped backwards, breathing hard. 

"Come here," he said to Raphaella, "I want to keep touching you."

Raphaella obliged him, pulling out of Tim and leaving him shaking and scrabbling at Jonny's thigh. Jonny dragged Tim's head up. "Want me to have a go at you?"

After a moment Tim shook his head. "Rather fuck you."

Jonny kissed Tim, hard, then rolled over and got on his hands and knees, sighing happily and half-collapsing with pleasure when Tim pushed into him. To one side, Raphaella began making soft, high-pitched noises that briefly crescendoed in a scream, and Tim's hands on Jonny's hips went tight.

"Well, they'll both be useless for a minimum of four minutes," Ivy said. "Jonny, I expect you can multitask well enough to eat me out now."

"Definitely," Jonny assured her, and laughed when Tim seized the back of his neck and shoved him down to where Ivy awaited him. Then he stopped laughing and put his mouth to better use. The world pared down wonderfully to Ivy under his tongue and Tim steadily fucking him.

Ivy came first, and pushed Jonny's head away when she'd finished shaking through it. Jonny sprawled among the pillows, looking dazedly sideways at Ivy, who was now stretched out, naked and content, watching him and Tim with Marius's mechanism arm thrown around her waist. Her hair and his arm matched, Jonny noticed with the sort of silly delight he mostly felt while being very thoroughly had. Then he forgot about it entirely, because Tim was touching his cock and biting into his shoulder, _hard_ , and Jonny was gone.

He returned to coherency with Tim still more or less draped over his back, and Ivy's hand tangled in his hair. Marius was still holding Ivy, and Raphaella was nestled behind Tim. Jonny realized, with rising indignation, that Marius had taken his advice, and found the other snugglers among the crew, and then, like an absolute rat bastard, he had stuck Jonny right in the middle of them. He absolutely was going to shoot Marius for this later, and if Marius asked him why, Jonny would say _for the orgy, you fuck_ , which sounded like an appropriately unhinged response and would likely only make Marius laugh. This probably meant Jonny should kill him right now, just reach past Ivy and strangle him.

That seemed like a lot of effort. Jonny was tingling with endorphins and the aftermath of a good orgasm. Tim's weight on him, Ivy's grasp on his hair, Raphaella and Marius's breathing to either side, all felt intimately familiar, and Jonny was too relaxed to move. He'd kill Marius later. Meantime, Jonny closed his eyes again, and breathed with his crew.

**redeath**

Planets died and stars died, careening into one another, guttering out, collapsing; live long enough and you could see every kind of celestial death. Jonny never grew tired of witnessing disaster on a cosmic scale. 

On this particular occasion, Raphaella had spotted a planet in decayed orbit, finally falling into its sun. They brought the Aurora close, hovering as near to the stellar corona as her hull could take, shifting sheets of brilliant fire taking up the whole of space outside. Jonny watched the little dark spot of the planet throw itself into the flaming sun and blink out, the briefest spark, there and then gone. He stared into the shifting fire of the star for a long moment more, then began to turn away.

Several of the crew gasped, and Jonny whirled back to the window.

Flames were rising in great feathery plumes from the sun, a massive, beautiful solar flare. Jonny pressed himself to the plex and stared. Something was rising out of the sun, pulling fire in its wake, streams of purple-red gas coalescing into a golden orb as the sun behind it began to gutter out like an ember. "It's the planet," Ivy murmured. "It didn't die."

The glowing planet was soaring further from the dimming star, stolen sunlight blazing at its living heart. Jonny watched it fly in joy and awe: the universe still contained the unknown, could still stun him with unexpected beauty. Even what dies could come back new, Jonny knew that, but to see it acted out so grandly was a gift and a wonder. 

A cool hand slipped into his, fingers entwining. Jonny glanced sideways at Nastya, who was still watching the planet outside, the light reflecting golden off her spectacles, a faint, reverent smile on her face. Jonny squeezed her hand, and her smile widened a little, quirking up at one corner.

Jonny smiled too, turning back to watch the miracle outside, hand still comfortably clasped in hers.

**distant stars awaiting**

Thirty years was not, in the grand scheme of the universe, a long time. Jonny had hardly even begun to get bored of Metropolitan by the time Brian crashed through the wall of the interview room to announce that Jonny's ride was here. Thirty years was not nothing, but it was less time than Jonny might've taken in an uncharitable mood. The crew always came back for each other.

*

"We don't have to stay," Nastya said. The whiskey bottle in her hands was empty, and her shirt was very slightly less crisp than it had been when she'd found Jonny wedged against the bulkhead a half hour earlier. 

"What do you mean by that?" Jonny asked. "Stay where? We go everywhere."

"With her," Nastya said. "With Dr. Carmilla. You and me and Aurora, we could go anywhere. I know she saved us both, but Jonny, we are _immortal_ now, and we don't have to put up with anything we don't want to."

"That would be mutiny," Jonny said, although he knew it was nonsense even as he said it. "Anyway, fuck that, we saved ourselves. And I don't believe in debts, burned all of that down years ago." Nastya was looking at him, closely and a bit skeptically, but there was no pity or resentment in her face. The whiskey had burned through most of what Jonny was feeling, but not all of it. He took a slightly shaky breath. "If I thought we could get away with it, Nastya, I would."

"We don't have to stay," Nastya told him again, like a talisman, like a promise.

*

Jonny sat with the Toy Soldier and his bottle of apple mead beneath the gently turning stars, and he thought about the whole width of a galaxy on fire.

Yeah, the story went something like that.


End file.
